


Give Me Faith, Give Me Joy

by Edwardina



Series: The Cherish 'Verse [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: AU, D/s AU, Deliberate Badfic, Dom/sub, Light Bondage, M/M, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of <i>Cherish Is the Word I'd Use</i>.  Kurt agrees to meet Sam's parents in an unlikely setting, which leads Sam to finally confess his troubles.  Kurt continues to try and undo the damage wrought upon his sub, but that's difficult when Quinn's made it a point to stay in Sam's life.  Finally, Sam gets several things his subby little heart desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Faith, Give Me Joy

**Author's Note:**

> This switches back to Sam's perspective. Title from "Cherish" by Madonna.
> 
> Thanks to Kate for being an instrumental soundboard, and Lucy for the adorable cheat sheet.
> 
> Also, I've literally never posted any kind of fic or series of fics with a "chapter" feel, let alone a work in progress where I am just doing whatever I want, so this is all really experimental for me.

"Is that a hickey?"

Sam's mom asked it lightly so the kids wouldn't hear, but Sam sucked in an exhilarated breath.

It's not like he'd forgotten that Kurt had been macking on his neck, because truthfully, that was kind of one of his hot spots – but he'd been kissing right over his collar bone, right? Not in the middle of his throat for all to see. His hand flew up automatically. Just with the light touch of his fingertips, he could feel Kurt's mouth there, demanding on his skin. With a sheepish jerk, he tugged his collar up.

"Wow, okay," she said, taking that as a confirmation and blinking. "... Okay."

"Sorry," murmured Sam, face warm. "I –"

"You didn't have that this morning, did you?"

"No," he admitted, wondering if she would also notice that he'd come home in his gym shirt instead of his blue hooded shirt, which was tucked in his gym bag, stuck to itself and probably reeking with come.

She shook her head and handed Sam one of the sticks of celery she was peanut buttering for Stevie and Stacey. 

"I have to meet this guy. All of a sudden you're coming home with gigantic cuffs on and huge red bruises on your neck..."

Sam folded his lips in tight. He knew his mom was probably plagued with memories of being called into Brookside Academy For Boys and sitting there in the headmaster's office with him and with the captain of the lacrosse team and his mom, and of Sam having to say in front of all of them, _He tried to dom me in the shower. Not cool._

And of the lacrosse captain calmly saying, _That's total bull, Evans. I know the rules. I wasn't trying to dom you. Sir, he was checking me out. I looked over at him and he was looking at me with big sub eyes, so I went over to tell him to quit cruising me._

 _I wasn't – I wasn't looking, I wasn't cruising. I'm not a sub_ , Sam had tried to say, annoyed, but the guy had just kept talking.

_He freakin' flipped and shoved me. Next thing I know, my skull's hitting tile. Those showers are freaking slippery, moron. I could've gotten brain damage, and then where would the team be?_

That part had been close enough to the truth, except for the guy hadn't exactly been coy about his junk, and Sam hadn't exactly been coy about looking at it, either. He had an awesome body that Sam envied and kinda found attractive, and no qualms hanging around in his jock strap after practice, holding sweaty court. The guy was just that type that loved being the center of attention, and if he called out Sam's name, Sam always responded. But the whole thing was still a tangle of confusion to him. To this day, Sam didn't understand how the guy had thought that meant he was up for literal grabs. Even now, he had both feelings of arousal and fear about about it.

Somehow, even though he was remembering that whole situation and the minefield boarding school had been for him, Sam felt good. He was collared now.

"Kurt really wants to meet you too," he offered.

"Oh! That's good. We'll have to set something up," she said thoughtfully. Sam nodded, and she shook her head, still looking a bit perplexed but also a little more at ease, like she was simply attempting to accept the new status quo.

With an apologetic smile, Sam put away his celery stick in two bites and slid towards the bathroom, shutting himself up in it.

As always, he ignored his mom's pantyhose drying on the towel rack and all the other evidence his entire family was sharing the smallest bathroom ever. Turning on the depressing yellow light, he immediately stretched his neck, searching in the mirror for what his mom had seen. And there it was. Sort of under his tee's collar, but sort of not, this visibly discolored patch of skin. It did look like a red bruise. He huffed, sort of shocked and turned on, and pulled at his collar to see it in its full glory.

It wasn't actually huge, but... he really hadn't realized Kurt had given him an actual hickey.

Suddenly he was panting in the small bathroom, grateful for Stevie and Stacey to be absorbed in Nickelodeon or whatever just in case his breaths were anywhere near as loud as the walls made them sound.

God, he was so... happy – lucky – amazed – thankful – unworthy.

Dizzy, eyes wide as he stared at it carefully, he touched it again with careful fingertips, raising that ghost of the sensation of Kurt's warm mouth traveling up the column of his neck and back down into that dip, and the pleasant weight of Kurt flattened along him, heavier than Quinn or Santana but still light in a way, keeping him steady and anchored. His belly tugged with automatic arousal thinking about it.

It hardly seemed real. Sort of like after they'd had sex the other afternoon, Sam's thoughts seemed to haze out and become difficult to grapple with, indistinct beyond a sharp, deep desire for... that. To be with Kurt in that kind of way. To be wanted and to be used. Even though he could sense that it wasn't what his Dom had intended, Sam had still been allowed to see Kurt's cock, and touch it the way Kurt wanted him to, and make it spurt all over him, and between that and this lingering suck mark and the cuffs so visible and public on his wrist, Sam felt... 

Well, he was trying not to moan. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to stomp down that rising feeling of wanting to crumple in ecstatic submission. He felt so _owned_. If he thought about it much more he might spontaneously combust right there in the bathroom, leaving his worn Converse behind.

"Get it together," he mouthed to himself. "Pretend you're in school."

Standing there, he grasped for memories of snapping the tip of his pencil off in geometry and getting up to sharpen it, and the wisp of Mr. Kidney's huge broom going by in the hallway, and of trying not to fall asleep in English. He tried not to let in thoughts from the past few days; they weren't any good for calming down. He thought of Mrs. Hagberg's bald spot, staring up at the styrofoam planets in the astronomy classroom, and the squishiest sloppy joe imaginable served in the cafeteria. Yeah, that worked.

Sam pulled his t-shirt up, paranoid, to stare at his stomach.

He'd gained a little weight since they'd been here. He wasn't getting a workout from football every day anymore, and his diet had suffered a sea change when they'd lost their house. He'd lost that definition he'd worked hard to achieve preparing for _Rocky Horror_. After Valentine's Day, he'd kind of started neglecting himself anyway, sensing that his Domme didn't really care if he had a slice of pizza. Santana hadn't seemed to notice. The only real attention she'd given him was some "real talk" about how he kissed like his lips were two slugs he was just wiping all over her face. He thought maybe her first act as his Domme was teaching him to kiss her just how she wanted, but apparently she'd just been drunk, because that evening of making out at Rachel's party had definitely been a one-time thing. Then he had become Kurt's, and that was that, and he'd never looked back on his basically terrible week with Santana.

Sam turned to the side and tensed his belly, looking for abs, but he'd officially downgraded from a six pack. He couldn't believe Kurt could look at him and like what he saw. Was that why Kurt had told him to leave his shirt on?

Well, he just had to work harder. He had to get it tight. He'd do crunches tonight. All the crunches he could manage.

It didn't help that he felt tired.

Exiting the bathroom again, Sam headed for his spot: his sleeping bag. Sometimes it got rolled up during the day, but today it was just as he'd left it the night before, and he couldn't wait to faceplant and tune out, just for a little bit.

"Gonna take a nap," he mumbled, dropping to his belly and grabbing at his limp pillow.

"Did you hear your brother? Stacey? Stevie? Don't jump on Sammy, okay? He's taking a snooze."

"Isn't he gonna sit us?" Stacey asked, concerned.

"He will later, caterpillar. Come get your ants on a log."

"I don't like celery," Stacey complained.

"Sammy loves it," his mom said.

Stacey groaned reluctantly, obviously feeling Sam was not an ideal role model. "Love" was, indeed, a gross overstatement of his feelings about celery, but. Sam was mentally muting everything around him already. He just wanted to... think... Cut his tie to reality and be gone for a little while...

Subbing out in front of his family had yet to be something he could do without feeling a little weird and guilty, even though he did it almost every day. The past few days, he was doing it more often than not, even though he knew it was wrong. He had to hope that as long as they didn't know what he was doing, what he was thinking about, it wouldn't hurt them.

When Kurt had first taken him from Santana, Sam had barely been able to process anything going on in his head. There was a lot to think about every day, but there was no pocket of time that was his own. Except at night. After his family all went to bed and the lights were off, it felt a little like his mind was actually alone, even if his body wasn't. Sam depended on that precious ten minutes of hardcore zoning out before his mind inevitably clicked off into sleep, and used it to think all about his Dom and belonging to someone new and all the things Kurt told him every day. He thought about the small things he started noticing, like that Kurt kept extra-firm-hold hairspray in his locker and used lots of different-colored pens. He committed things carefully to memory, like Kurt's class schedule and his top five Madonna music videos. Everything seemed so important, because he could tell having a guy for a Dom was a lot different, but didn't know what a Dom like Kurt expected from him, exactly.

Especially after he started talking to Kurt on the phone every night, Sam had virtually nothing else on his mind by the time he hunkered down to sleep. Bedtime turned into the one time of day where his mental walls slumped, exhausted, and he let himself have all kinds of thoughts... arousing thoughts and embarrassing thoughts... while lying face-down on the floor mere inches from the bed where his parents were asleep.

He wasn't proud of it. But he was trying so hard to keep up in school; he had to pay attention or he got totally lost. If he let himself think about it in the van while he was out on delivery, he always got all kinds of turned around and had to call back to the store for directions. He didn't have his own room anymore. Showers were short-lived affairs here and he shared the bathroom with four other people, so he had to be smart and frugal about time spent in there. He wanted to think about Kurt so badly, it just took over him at night.

Living in one room with his family hadn't really impacted his, like... masturbatory habits, in the words of his Dom. At that point, he'd had months of practice successfully suppressing the urge. Sometimes he floated off so far that he would find himself rubbing his boner through his sweats, but as soon as what he was doing fully kicked in, he always stopped. He knew it wasn't really kosher to be chubbed and steeped in perversion around his family. But Sam wasn't trying to be a bad person. He just couldn't help it, and he tried his best to hide it, always lying on his belly and keeping stone cold still. So for weeks now, he lay in his sleeping bag every night and succumbed to the riptide in the only somewhat personal time he had.

He thought a lot about the bath Kurt had given him the morning after Rachel's party. Especially the first couple of weeks after Kurt had taken him into consideration, he had played the whole thing on a frantic loop in his brain, the single hottest and yet most humiliating thing he'd ever experienced in his life.

Somehow that was saying a lot. After all, he'd blurted out Coach Beiste's name when Quinn dommed him, and everyone had found out about it. And, um, guys at boarding school had seen him in pretty unflattering lights before. One had tried to dom him, and one had submitted to him, and both experiences had left him really confused and feeling like a jackass.

But he'd never been so aroused and utterly naked at the same time, both skin-wise and sub-wise, as when Kurt had told him to undress, then led him into that tub full of bubbles. His body had felt dumb and he'd managed to sit in the bath easy enough, but inside he was shaking from the emotional adrenaline of daring to ask Kurt to take him as his submissive and the fact that Kurt had done so. He remembered staring up at Kurt and hoping, hoping, hoping for – he didn't know what. Kurt had been really polite and actually bathed him like he was a kid or something, soaping him up all over and commenting about how tall he was. But he had ignored Sam's hard-on, even though it had been raging. Sam had been totally on edge, waiting for him to make some kind of comment about it, or maybe even touch it, but... he hadn't.

Thinking about it always put Sam right back in that bathtub, breathing too harshly and dick too hard; he'd been afraid, but not in the instinctive, defensive way he'd been when he'd shoved the lacrosse captain away from him. He'd been anxious, worried about his body and worried Kurt might give him the kind of quelling look of annoyance that Quinn had often given him when he had a boner.

In the weeks after, Sam had desperately fallen prey to all kinds of fantasies about that bath, even though he didn't know whether Kurt would ever want to do anything more with him than Quinn had. Because there wasn't the traumatic idea of teen pregnancy lingering around the idea of sex, and maybe because of the things that had happened to him at boarding school, Sam's brain kicked into sexy hyperdrive like never before. He'd had fantasies about the chaste soaping turning into Kurt jacking him off in the water, with Sam's knees splashing water over the sides of the tub and Kurt being unbelievably generous to him, letting him come. But that seemed so, like, unlikely and selfish. So more often than not he had fantasies that Kurt would touch him – maybe just a couple of light soapy strokes to clean him off, or maybe more purposefully – but not let him come at all, continuing along his body and totally ignoring Sam's shameful need no matter how hard and groany Sam was. Maybe that was all he was used to getting, even from himself, but it seemed to go with the eternal ache of his gut that only faded in the dreary mornings and the cold reality of where he was.

He didn't just think about the bath. He wanted to touch Kurt, too, please him, serve him.

It had been hard to imagine, even though his mind was plucky and persistent, fueled by his total scoping of the situation every time he saw his Dom sporting signs of wood. With his parents and siblings all wheezing softly in their sleep next to him, Sam had lain and wondered about Kurt's dick, torturing himself because he didn't know if he'd ever be allowed to see it. Kurt never came onto him, never put a single move on him, but he got aroused by Sam, too, and it drove Sam up the wall so crazily.

Sam liked guys' bodies. He knew that. He liked the way they looked. Sometimes he just appreciated the way they maintained themselves, muscles packed on, or he liked something about their shape or individual quirks. Sometimes he felt kind of like he liked someone's body too much, but didn't know how it made him feel other than kind of skittery and weird. He'd seen enough dudes' junk to last a lifetime, which kind of helped fill in desperate mental blanks, but they were just not good enough, not right enough.

Kurt was the opposite of the kind of dudes Sam had hung around most of his little league and boarding school life. He wasn't muscular in the same ways, just like he didn't dress the same way and didn't dom like they tried to dom. He was sort of a mystery to Sam. He was super attentive and had this undeniable air of Dom that Sam intrinsically, animalistically would've followed to the ends of the earth. But he didn't expect Sam to do anything but his homework, or sometimes eat something specific in front of him. He asked Sam to walk with him to class. He asked Sam to call him after work. But he didn't demand head every day. He never had Sam bend over. He didn't instruct or invite Sam to do anything physical for him or to him, or even seem to think it was important or a thing that Doms and subs needed to do together. It was very confusing, in a different way than other guys had been confusing to him. At Brookside, D/s relationships and physical relations were against the rules, but plenty of it went on anyway, or at least there were a lot of rumors and crap.

Totally aware that dick service was definitely a thing guys wanted – especially because he had lips that attracted a lot of smack talk about it – Sam had developed an immediate response, applying it to Kurt. If Kurt would ever let him, Sam could do it. He could give him head. Maybe even every day. He had hated it when guys at Brookside made jokes about his lips and talked about what they were good for. But that indignant feeling had done a total one-eighty with Kurt. Now Sam always just about sproinged if he imagined getting on his knees for his Dom. Nothing turned him on harder or faster. He had no idea why, but he knew that with Kurt, even just imagining it, he felt so excited and so squirmy; he wanted to do it. He wanted to please Kurt. He wanted to be a pleasing sub.

Of course, that was all just in Sam's private frenzy of subby bedtime thoughts. In reality, Kurt was the only guy who didn't take one look at Sam's mouth and judge him by it.

Anyway, no matter what his body wanted, Sam had also often felt very content just to think himself to sleep about how Kurt had told him his locker combination. He'd drifted off to fantasies about touching Kurt's lock and holding his books, and the biggest sense of unfulfilled pining he had those nights was to be allowed to help Kurt from his jacket. Would Kurt let him do that? Touch his clothes? Kurt was so particular about his outfits. Thinking about being given a privilege like that was all it took to make Sam feel blissed out. He didn't even need to actually think about the distant idea of sex with his Dom to feel aroused in his submissive soul.

So the fact that Kurt had actually had sex with him, which Sam hadn't seen coming any more than Kurt had, made for a lot for him to need to sub out about.

Sam was so used to suppressing and denying his body that it seemed extremely nonsensical as part of the fabric of his reality. It felt more like a wet dream. He was getting a little better at realizing he really had been allowed to have his Dom's cock in his mouth; he really had spread his legs to show his Dom how much he belonged to him. The euphoria he'd been drowning in at the time made it almost impossible to recall with any logic or clear-headedness. But Kurt had added to the pile by taking Sam aside at school.

He knew Kurt must be trying to help him. It felt really good. Not just coming – of course that felt good – but Kurt showing interest in him, continuing to dom him when Sam felt so much like he was having all kinds of problems being a good sub for him. It felt like maybe Kurt really was going to train him.

While his little siblings chomped on their snacks and watched cartoons and his mom cut coupons out of the newspaper, Sam thought about Kurt telling him about being in his sleeping bag, being excited and being very hard, but being very good and not humping the floor or anything. He remembered Kurt saying he liked feeling Sam so hard, and savored the words desperately, touching and feeling and tasting them over and over in his mind. He was so lucky. He was so, so lucky. He did want to be good and Kurt knew it, but he also needed to come all the time, and Kurt knew that, too... and Kurt knew that he wouldn't. He would hold off. Sam would be good.

Delirium kicked in within thirty seconds. He heard his breath puff lightly against the pillowcase and slowed his breathing with careful deliberation, _The Penguins of Madagascar_ and the slamming car doors of someone out in the parking lot just white noise. Kurt's words echoed in his head.

_Poor little sub! You don't have privacy._

 

*

 

Saturday night, New Directions held their benefit concert. 

It was a serious flop.

Sunshine Corazon didn't show. There were only six people in the audience, and one of them was Kurt, and they were all in a super bad mood or something, and yelled and booed at Tina until she ran off the stage in tears without having finished her weird song. Miss Holliday and Mr. Schuester's wack vibes were all over the place, and Miss Holliday's performance was kind of a downer. Mercedes left halfway through and almost didn't come back. Rachel eventually went and found her, and she closed the show bombastically, but the whole evening was kind of a roller coaster.

Nevertheless, Kurt held Sam's hands backstage before and after and told him to sprain an ankle (Sam mentioned he was pretty sure it was "break a leg"; Kurt chuckled and told him he was right).

In the end, the only money they made was because Mr. Ryerson loved him some Aretha Franklin, and it was drug money. It went to fund the Brainiacs and their trip to Detroit, and New Directions were out several boxes of saltwater taffy. Sam was actually kind of glad his parents hadn't come, even though they had asked if they could. They really just wanted to meet Kurt, which he was kind of stoked about, but it wasn't New Directions' best. Sam wanted them to know that, for real, his show choir didn't suck. They were heading to Nationals, after all. So Sam's parents had come up with a different plan.

During the show, Kurt sat with his friend from Dalton because he didn't want the only supportive person in the audience to leave, and eventually they were the only two audience members left. Sam watched them chatting between numbers, slightly itchy. He wanted to talk to Kurt, but... not in front of Blaine. But the guy never left his Dom's side. Not even when they went back to the choir room; Blaine just came along, with Kurt giving a tour on the way. When Kurt wrapped his arm around Sam and whispered an affectionate good night to him, fingers playing with a button on Sam's shirt as he nuzzled his neck and got him dangerously close to an awkward erection, Blaine had just stood right there smiling this schmucky self-important smile rather than back away to give them a single minute alone.

Sam had taken the bus home, lips smushed up into what he was pretty sure was a pout. He knew this Blaine dude didn't know his life and didn't know how important each little second he got to spend with Kurt was to him, and it was cool Kurt had a gay friend to watch Bravo with, but he still felt cheated.

When he walked into the door, hair and shirt wet and matted down from cold springtime rain, Sam's dad actually stood up immediately, muting the TV.

"Well? What'd ol' Kurt have to say?" he asked, making it sound like he and Kurt were hunting buddies from way back when. His dad was being really, like, overzealous about being cool with Sam having a guy for a Dom, but it was nice since Sam had been afraid of the opposite. In retrospect, he didn't know why; his dad was really friendly person and hadn't even seemed shocked when Sam had admitted he was pretty sure he was actually a sub. A guy just didn't want to disappoint his dad, he thought.

"I didn't get to ask," said Sam, a little grouchy as he locked up behind him. "I, uh... he had his friend with him. He'd invited this guy from another school. I thought it'd be weird."

"Why? What's weird? And who's the guy?"

Sam shook his head, unable to articulate the embarrassment he'd feel if Kurt had turned him down in front of Blaine, or even worse, just felt obliged to say yes because Blaine was there. His mom, clearly aware that he was flinging droplets of rainwater from his hair, grabbed one of the napkins from the stash they'd built up and came over to pat him down.

"I just got shy. No big deal."

"You? Shy? Now, you can be a quiet guy sometimes, but you're not shy, are you?"

"Nah, I'm not really that shy," Sam agreed, snagging the damp napkin from his mom and patting it over the back of his neck before any more water could roll down the back of his shirt. "But, Dad, it's kinda hard to be a guy and ask out a guy in front of another guy."

"Why!" his dad said. "He already collared you, son! I think that means he likes ya."

"Ah, you're a Dom. You don't get it," said Sam, smiling.

"I don't see what me being a Dom has to do with it. And what's that other guy got to do with it? He's got nothin' on you. Kurt's responsibility is to you. His interest, if he knows what's good for him, is you."

"Honey," said Sam's mom, amused, "Sam's been collared for all of three days. Learning how to feel comfortable asking your Dom for things can take some time."

"Well, sure," Sam's dad admitted. "But you never know till you try. Why don't you call him up, Sammy?"

"Uh... really? It's kinda late... isn't it?"

"You just got home. He probably hasn't been home that long, himself. What, you think he won't answer?"

"I don't know," said Sam.

"Well, you usually talk to him before bed, don't you? It wouldn't be weird if you gave him a ring."

Mouth tugging nervously, Sam considered the time. A _Law and Order: Special Victims Unit_ re-run was on, so it was a little late. Stevie and Stacey were already passed out, Stevie on the cot and Stacey in her own pink sleeping bag. But it was also Saturday night. And he did always talk to Kurt before bed.

"Okay," he found himself saying.

"Dwight, you don't need to be pushy with him," he heard his mom mutter with some fond exasperation.

"You want to meet this kid, don't you?" his dad replied calmly as Sam headed back out into the cool, humid night.

Even though it was drizzling and he was just getting wet again, he wandered down into the parking lot, scrolling to Kurt in his contacts and pressing the call button with expectations that were pretty low.

"Sam, hi – what's up? You okay, sweetie?"

"I'm okay," Sam answered, sniffing in the wetness, but he did feel nerves kicking in. He could still feel the warm gripping Kurt had given his wrists because his cuffs were still firmly strapped in place. His Dom's presence was somehow overwhelming, even over the phone. "Sorry for calling really late."

"Not at all. You can call me anytime."

"Were you asleep?"

"No, I'll turn in here in a few. I'm just applying my nighttime eye cream."

"Oh. Good. Uh, I wanted to ask you something. I wanted to ask you earlier? In person? But I didn't want to, uh... interrupt, I guess? You can say no, obviously. You can do whatever you want."

"Ask me, Sam," Kurt said simply.

It felt like he was asking Kurt on a date, or something, but it also felt like he was asking Kurt to do something unpleasant. It really meant a lot to Sam that his dad was acting like everything was so totally normal and awesome and that his mom hadn't had broken down in tears over that hickey, but Sam had yet to inform either of his parents that Kurt wasn't the biggest, uh, Jesus freak. Still, it was his dad's idea, and even if Kurt did say no, Sam could at least go to sleep knowing his parents were trying to be supportive in their own way, even though they were both so stressed out, and that they loved him as much as ever.

Sam took a deep breath. "Well, I just... It's just, my parents wanted to know if you wanted to come to church with us tomorrow. For Easter."

"...Oh."

"I'm sorry. I know it's totally last-minute. I guess it turns out the church is having an egg hunt after, which is cool 'cause... Stevie and Stacey'll go nuts. But they just asked me out of nowhere earlier if you had plans and if you might want to come. I guess my mom really wants to meet you and my dad is convinced you two are gonna wind up going skeet shooting together, or something? I know you don't go to church and I doubt you skeet either. But, um, I just thought I'd... ask and see."

"Oh. Well..."

"Sorry," Sam repeated. "It was a bad idea."

"No, it's not a bad idea!" Kurt said hastily. "I'm – surprised, and very flattered your parents thought of inviting me. Really. That's really kind and... unexpected. But you're right. I don't go to church. Um. I don't mind if people believe in God. I know that's an important fixture in a lot of people's lives that they depend on and get a lot out of. That particular path is just not for me. Honestly, I've felt uncomfortable every time I've gone to church, even if everyone is really nice and just wants the best for my immortal soul. But, um, you've obviously picked up on the fact that I'm not religious, so that's – a bit of a relief. Having said all that, I'd love to go, if just to see you. And meet your parents and stuff, too, of course."

"Really!" Sam blurted. It came out way more impressed than he meant for it to, but he was probably even more shocked Kurt had taken him up on the invitation than Kurt was to be asked in the first place.

Kurt's laugh came out a bit staticy over his dumb phone line.

"You thought I'd say no, huh?"

"Yeah, I – well – I just... I didn't know, really."

"You're Catholic, right?"

"Yeah. Uh, well, I mean, we go to a Catholic church, but we're more Episcopal. My mom was raised Catholic and my dad a Unitarian, so in Tennessee we went to an Episcopal church, and I also went to Baptist bible camp every summer and my boarding school was Methodist."

"Wow. You're all kinds of Christian."

"I guess. Yeah."

"I watched a couple of seasons of _The Tudors_ , but I really don't know the difference between denominations," Kurt said. "All I know is England was Catholic one second and Protestant the next, and went back and forth and back and forth, and heads were flying everywhere."

"Episcopalians are more laid-back, I guess? Catholics are a lot more strict and they believe some stuff Episcopalians don't. In the Episcopal church, priests can get married and be women and be gay and anyone can take communion, but Catholics are more traditional. But they look really similar, like if you go to traditional services. Like, they have bishops and stuff, and say the Nicene Creed."

"That's all Greek to me, especially because I'm still stuck on 'gay priests.' Are you for real? I'm frankly shocked."

"Yeah. But that's Episcopalians, not Catholics. Uh, but. Um. You won't be the only gay person there."

"Yeah, I bet not," said Kurt, rather sardonically. "What about your cuffs? Can you be collared in church, or is that some kind of sin?"

"I can be collared! Lots of subs are. And I told you, I'm never taking them off, so. I'd just switch churches if they tried to make me."

"All right, I'm sold," Kurt declared. "I can never resist the pleas of a sweet little sub. What time should I be ready, and should I wear a hat fit for the queen, or...?"

"We're going to the late service, so, like, ten-thirty. Is that okay?"

"Sure, that's okay."

"Wear whatever you want. You'll look really – snazzy," said Sam, fumbling a little with the compliment and scratching his head awkwardly.

"Ah! Do you ever know how to get butts in seats," Kurt chuckled.

"I – I mean it, I think you'll be the best dressed person there!"

"More flattery! Thanks for the faith, so to speak. Okay, so. Ten-thirty-ish?"

"Yeah! Thanks – thanks for coming!"

"Of course. Now let me be selfish and tuck you in a little, since I've got you on the phone."

"'Kay," said Sam happily. Just for the sake of it, he stopped his restless foot from messing with a rain-drenched sprout of a weed in the middle of the parking lot and hurried to the steps in front of his family's motel room. He wasn't gonna sleep there or anything, but he liked really feeling like Kurt was tucking him in, so he carefully sat himself where it was dry and eagerly tugged his knees up to his chest.

"I know I already told you this, but I'm so proud of what a great job you did with your intros during the benefit. No offense to Mike and his mop or Mercedes and her backup choir. They were both great and wonderful and all that jazz. But you were my favorite part by far!"

Pleased, Sam huffed. Kurt had said he was proud twice earlier, but he hadn't said that last thing. "Thanks."

"You spoke very clearly and always smiled. I could tell you took Artie's directions from the other day to heart. Excellent job. And you looked so cute in your green shirt. I don't remember you ever wearing it before. But I liked it! And you were so polite, shaking Blaine's hand and everything. Even though you've met him in passing before, I was really excited to introduce you to him, as my sub. Did you see the way he was looking at your wrists?" His Dom hummed happily. "He was so jealous."

"Jealous? Really?"

Sam had kind of gotten a vibe like that, since Blaine had spent the entire concert at Kurt's side and kept looking at his Dom and sitting really close to him and whispering things to him unnecessarily, but he'd felt so itchy and reluctant, he'd thought maybe it was just him feeling jumpy and paranoid because of the way things had turned out with Quinn and Finn; he could still hear himself shouting about kissing distance in the school library, which hadn't been his finest hour as a sub.

"Jealous of me having a total hottie for a sub."

"Oh..."

"He also begged me to show him the discretionary. But I told him it was our private suite."

Sam flushed at the words, both in the ears and in his jeans, forgetting his missteps with Quinn utterly.

"The intermissions between acts were a bit lengthy, so we probably could've ducked out, but I didn't want to risk missing you, so I made him just sit there with me while I bragged on you. I loved looking up at you on that stage while you introduced everybody. I just kept thinking, 'That's my good boy.' I was so proud. I wish all of Sunshine's Twitter followers had showed up just for my own personal benefit, but maybe it's just as well that they didn't. My massive ego might have suffocated them all."

"You're joking," Sam managed, listening to Kurt's pleased laugh.

"Are you going to be a good boy, now, Sam, and go cuddle down in your sleeping bag?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "I'm so happy you're gonna be there tomorrow."

"Aw, you are?"

"Yeah." Sam was starting to get pink-faced. "I wanna see you."

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow morning for church, cutie. Go get some sleep."

"Yes. I will. Night, Kurt."

"Night, sub," said Kurt, sneaking in one last little tweak to Sam's happiness.

After taking a minute to sigh and center himself, Sam headed back in.

"He's coming," he informed his parents dreamily.

"'Course he is," said Sam's dad.

"Go take a shower, please," Sam's mom said, making Sam realize he'd been heading automatically toward his sleeping bag – his happy place – to think about his Dom. "And bring me those wet clothes when you're done."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, scooting.

"Dwight," she continued, "wipe that smug look off your face."

"Yes, dear," said Sam's dad indulgently.

 

*

 

For some reason, Sam wasn't remotely nervous.

He had expected to be way, way more sweaty-nervous to introduce Kurt to his parents. Nervous whether they'd like him and what they'd think if he wore one of those fox tails; nervous whether he'd like them. But Kurt had been so agreeable about coming to church when he didn't believe in God or feel comfortable there that it put Sam strangely at ease. (So did the fact that Kurt had not fathered any illegitimate babies last year.) So when they pulled up to Kurt's house in their van the next morning, Sam was, in his mom's words, a squirmy puppy.

Kurt's stepmom answered the doorbell. She was in sweatpants and had a glass of champagne or something, and had definitely not been to church, but was smiling enthusiastically.

"Hi there, Sam!"

"Hi! I'm here to pick up Kurt."

"He's just finishing up his ensemble. Come on in!"

Mrs. Hummel waved at his parents, who waved back behind the van windows.

Sam stepped over the threshold, hands clapping then rubbing then folding in front of him. He couldn't button the cuffs on his shirt and wear his collars at the same time, so his shirt cuffs were conspicuously slouching, unfastened, somewhat hidden by the suit jacket he'd borrowed from his dad. It didn't fit him very well, but it was Easter, and this was currently the nicest thing he had to wear. He usually wore his green striped button-down, the very same he'd worn to the benefit concert, to church. At least, he had for the past couple of months. Every week.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," came Kurt's voice, sounding rushed. "I was doing one last spray."

"That final spray is so important," Mrs. Hummel told Sam with a wink.

A pale hand ghosted easily over the wood railing, and sure enough, Kurt rounded the landing and came down the stairs, smooth and nimble, dressed in a slim-fitting brown suit that looked silky and shiny. His hair was styled differently than he wore it to school – like higher in front, or something. Sam incompetently absorbed the fact that he was wearing a blue-green bow tie, kind of a robin's egg color. His pocket square or whatever seemed to match, but it had a pattern on it, and his shirt seemed to match that without matching his tie. Somehow it all pulled together, defying what little Sam understood of fashion, and he just looked... very Kurt. And really good. And really different than everyone else in the world. For a split second, the way Kurt was descending the stairs made Sam feel like they were on their way to prom, not church.

"Ah-ha," said Kurt in a knowing tone, looking at him with eyes that seemed to be bluer than Sam had ever seen them. "Look at you! I'll just call you angel of the morning. Don't you look nice."

"I, ah," Sam said. Mrs. Hummel was standing there with him, and he had no idea how to compliment Kurt half as effusively as Kurt had just complimented him, even though he didn't look anywhere as nice as Kurt did. He wound up laughing stupidly, and Kurt came right up to him and grasped his face, smiling and looking him over. He smelled gut-wrenchingly amazing. Sam didn't know if it was the fresh hairspray or some kind of cologne or even his clothes or what.

"Cutie-pie," Kurt commented, right in front of his stepmom. Sam's internal temperature spiked fiercely, leaving him blushing in Kurt's hands.

"Well, you boys both look cute, like a pair of eclectic buttons," she said.

Kurt chuckled as though he found that particularly droll, then asked Sam, "Ready?"

"Yeah," said Sam gratefully.

"Enjoy those mini-quiche," Kurt told Mrs. Hummel, opening the door and ushering Sam out in front of him.

"We will."

"And don't let Dad eat the extra cheesy ones I made for Finn!"

"You know I won't, honey," she said. "Go! Have a good time."

"You had brunch with your family," Sam blurted, once she'd shut the front door. He'd only just remembered. "You're missing it. Sorry. I forgot."

"It's okay!" Kurt said, taking Sam's arm gingerly. "Easter's not a big deal for us."

He lead Sam down the porch to the puddle-laced walk that cut through the tidy, springy green yard, heading to where Sam's family's van was waiting for them, but it felt different than when Kurt lead him around at school. At school, Kurt twined around him or even held his wrist, really walking him, but right then he seemed to be only touching the back of Sam's bicep.

"You nervous?" Sam asked on a hunch, scoping out the flush in his cheeks in the bright spring morning.

"Yeah! Nervous. Excited," said Kurt, head bobbing to indicate they were just about the same thing. "You won't let me do anything dumb in front of your parents, will you? Like accidentally give the preacher the bird or take from the collection plate or something?"

Sam laughed under his breath. "You won't do anything like that! Stacey'll be more of a liability than you."

"Oh, right, your brother and sister," said Kurt. Sam wondered if he had actually forgotten he had siblings or if he really was just nervous. 

He huffed again, and took a whack at a compliment: "Uh, you – look really awesome in a suit." 

Kurt turned a smile on him, and Sam caught him batting his lashes and didn't know whether he was doing it on purpose or not.

"Thank you."

With a relieved, happy rush, Sam reached for the van door.

"Hope you don't mind," he said. "It's us and the kids and their Easter baskets back here."

"Not at all," said Kurt, though his shoulders now looked to Sam to be hitched with some apprehension.

Sam rolled the door open and stretched out a hand to Kurt, offering his help to climb in, and Kurt took it. Sam squeezed his hand while he was at it.

"Hey! It's Kurt!" said Sam's dad from the driver's seat.

"Yes! Hello," sang Kurt, sliding his way in with his usual grace. "Hello! I'm Kurt!"

"Dwight."

Kurt shook his dad's hand, and it kind of reminded Sam of the formal introduction Kurt had given himself the day Sam had joined glee. His first impression of Kurt then was that he was a little intimidating and weird, and came on strong, but that he was obviously super smart and had kinda seen right through him and known who he was immediately. It had very much been a Dom introducing himself to a sub, and Sam had reacted shyly at first.

"Mary," said his mom. Kurt shook his mom's hand more like she was Cinderella or something.

"You can call us Dwight and Mary," said his dad.

"Okay! I will, thank you!"

He climbed in after Kurt, fighting down bizarrely huge swells of pleasure that he guessed had to be pride, maybe, in his Dom, and in his family, all rushing up into one tidal wave. It made him practically collapse in his seat.

"It's so nice of you to invite me," Kurt was saying.

"We're so glad to have you," Sam's mom said. "We've been wanting to meet you."

"Oh, me too!"

"And this is Stevie and Stacey," Sam said, turning to tug at one of Stacey's corkscrew curls. Stevie and Stacey had consented to sitting in the third row of seats, and Stevie was committed to his coloring book, but Stacey had evidently wiggled out of her seat belt while the van had stopped. She was really excited about her Easter dress and the egg hunt and... basically everything. She was going after her pink stuffed rabbit. "Oops. We've got a wiggler back here. Let's get you back in your seatbelt so we can get rolling."

Sam leaned between his seat and Kurt's to help encourage Stacey back into place.

"Hi," said Stevie.

"Hi! Ooh, I like your dress," Kurt offered Stacey. Knowing Kurt, it might have been a legitimate compliment; Sam had no idea. All he knew was that Stacey's white sundress had purple flowers printed on it and that Stacey had wanted to wear purple shoes with it, but only had some old white sandals, and this had been cry-worthy an hour ago.

Kurt got stared at for a few seconds before Stacey, who was being particularly floppy, said, "Who are you?"

"Um. I'm Kurt. I'm in glee club with Sam."

Sam and Kurt glanced at each other at the same time, their eyes meeting, and Sam grinned at him, seeing his awkwardness.

"Kurt's my Dom," he said cheerily, buckling Stacey's seatbelt.

 

*

 

Even though Kurt seemed to be as charming and adept as ever, chatting in an extremely friendly manner with Sam's parents about glee and McKinley's football championship and his dad's tire shop, he also seemed to be more anxious than Sam ever would have expected. He was still barely touching Sam's elbow as they filed into the sanctuary with throngs of other parishioners in their modest Easter finery, and Sam finally realized he wasn't leading, but following, and holding on very lightly to Sam like he feared he might get lost or left behind.

Sam stepped into the lead without thought, offering his arm more obviously, but Kurt's hold was still tentative. He peered warily around, taking in the joyous explosion of flowers happening around the white-draped altar, and whispered, "The ceiling's so high." Sam wondered how many times Kurt had been to church in his life.

His family headed to their usual spot, where Kurt gave a funny stoop-necked bow at the cross and allowed Sam to direct him into the pew. He didn't want Kurt to wind up sandwiched awkwardly between his parents or something. Kurt sat when Sam gave him a gentle elbow. His back and arms were rigid, but he seemed intrigued by the cushioned kneeler in front of them and stared at it for a long minute.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, barely above the soft drone of the organ playing and people taking their seats, "I'm having impure thoughts."

Sam elbowed him again, trying not to smile too wide.

"Do I need to go to confession?" Kurt asked.

Leaning in closer, Sam whispered, "You can confess impure thoughts to me if you want."

"Do I get to see you kneel on that?" Kurt whispered back.

Sam shivered lightly. "Yes."

He could physically feel in Kurt's upright posture just how much this wasn't Kurt's comfort zone, but having him there by his side still felt good to Sam. He liked the subtle way Kurt's shoulder was butting into his and had a passing thought about putting his arm around Kurt like in glee – but he wondered how it would make Kurt feel, since he was already kinda uncomfortable. He lost the thought when Stacy climbed habitually onto his lap, clutching the stuffed rabbit that had been in the Easter basket Quinn had given her.

"Hey, did you name your rabbit?" Sam asked her. "Is her name Pinky Wigglenose?"

"No," Stacey protested, but Sam had captured her attentions and a smile.

"But that's a great name for a pink rabbit," said Sam.

"Stacey," said a familiar voice, eliciting a gasp from Stacey, who was right up off Sam's lap again. She dropped her pink rabbit into Kurt's lap as she squeezed her way past his knees and around the end of the pew to hug Quinn, who giggled in the aisle. "Hi! Happy Easter! You look beautiful in your dress! Did you bring your basket? Hi, Stevie! Happy Easter! Mr. and Mrs. Evans, hi."

"Hello, Quinn. Nice to see you." Sam's dad smiled.

"So nice to see you," said Quinn. Sam wasn't above noticing that she looked particularly pretty. Her dress was floral, too, and she had on a delicate white sweater with short sleeves for modesty and a white headband tucked into her mane of blonde waves. She was wearing her little gold cross. She was also wearing a little pair of short-wristed white gloves, which should've made her look like a little girl but instead made her look very Domme. She looked at him with expertly flattered eyes. "Happy Easter, Sam. ... Kurt."

"Quinn. It's certainly a pleasure to see you here," said Kurt, level and smiling.

"Oh, no, the pleasure is all mine, believe me. Seeing you in church really is an Easter miracle."

"Sam's parents invited me," said Kurt pleasantly. "Isn't that nice?"

"That is just great," said Quinn, a totally false brightness in her features. "Well. I really hope you enjoy the sermon. I hope it brings the light of Jesus Christ to your heart."

"Wow. Thank you."

Feeling his eyes sitting round from the kiss-kiss-darling tone of the whole aggressively-executed exchange, Sam glanced at his parents and saw his dad's brows had lifted. His mom was still kneeling with her hands templed together and a look of mild concern on her face.

"I'll see you at the egg hunt after church, won't I, Stacey?" Quinn asked, leading Stacey competently back into the pew by the hand.

"Yes!" Stacey bounced back onto Sam's knee.

"Great! Happy Easter!"

Quinn strolled away with grace, greeting someone else a few pews behind them, but in Sam's opinion, Kurt had won the small battle of faux niceties since he'd hardly given her any. Kurt straightened in his seat and smiled at Sam, wearing a complex expression that seemed to convey a thread of annoyance even though it also seemed like something about that had put Kurt in a more confident frame of mind. Kurt lifted up Stacey's pink rabbit and scritched its head in a way that made its nose appear to wiggle.

"Oh, dear! You draaapped me," he said in a squeaky voice. "I, Her Royal Bunniness Miss Princess Pinky Wigglenose-Windsor, only ride in baskets, dearie!"

"You sound funny," said Stacey. Sam wasn't sure if she was talking to the rabbit or to Kurt.

"Well, I was busy overseeing the royal egg coloring and I breathed in too much vinegar," Kurt said, and the stuffed rabbit's nose twitched. "I'm feeling very silly, dahling! But it was purple and purple is just my faaaaavorite!"

Sam chortled, not really because of the situation Kurt had described, but because Kurt's voice was so high and he was waving the stuffed animal in such a way that it looked like it was totally acid-tripping and marveling over the colors it was seeing.

"Don't you laugh at me, servant boy," said Princess Pinky Wigglenose.

"That was rude of me. I'm sorry, Princess Pinky," sighed Sam gravely. "Please don't turn up your twitchy nose at me."

"Return me to Stacey immediately! She's the only one that truly understands my love of carrot and jelly bean cake!"

"Yes, your majesty."

Sam snagged the rabbit and made it hop-hop-hop back into Stacey's arms, smiling at his Dom.

But Stacey obviously didn't know what to think of Kurt. She just silently hung onto her rabbit and stared at Kurt, not taking the playful bait. It occurred to him then that he wasn't sure what Stacey knew about Doms, anyway. She was still pretty little. Sam hadn't known anything when he was in first grade.

Kurt smiled back at Sam crookedly and gave a helpless shrug, lamenting out of the corner of his mouth, "Quinn has me beat, here."

 

*

 

Mass was great, except for a rough few minutes where Stacey literally couldn't sit still anymore and almost burrowed under the pew. Sam's mom had to sedate her with crayons and let her color on the bulletin.

Sam felt happy and light, chest soary with pride. For the first time in months, he totally forgot Quinn was even in the same room; it didn't seem to matter all of a sudden, which made him realize that every Sunday since they'd broken up, he had dreaded church a little.

But with Kurt at his side, it was like the morning sun had filled up the whole place, brightening everything. He shared a hymnal with his Dom and listened to that clear, pure voice sing "Jesus Christ Is Risen Today" along with the congregation, and even though he knew Kurt didn't ascribe any emotion or meaning to the words, sharing the tune he knew by heart with him seemed special in a way Sam hadn't anticipated at all. It was nice to sing with him without swaying or worrying about where his feet needed to be. Plus, it was cool because Kurt heard the soprano harmony on the refrain and joined it easily, his high notes drawing the attention of the people in front of them.

He barely stopped himself from telling them Kurt was his Dom.

He tried not to blatantly watch Kurt watching things, but all the Easter pomp and circumstance and readings and kneeling in prayer and standing to sing and then sitting again seemed to bemuse Kurt. When Sam wasn't gazing to his right at Kurt's profile or meeting his eyes shamelessly, he was smiling stupidly at the floor and at the priest, and he was probably paying about the same amount of attention as Stacey. He'd been to his fair share of church services, so instead he focused on the fact that he was sitting with his Dom and allowed it to fill him up to the brim. Quinn had sat with his family many times, and he with her and her mother a couple of times, too, but Quinn knew her way around the service and Kurt didn't. She had been the one to hold the hymnal for Sam. This time, Sam held the hymnal for Kurt and felt immeasurably privileged to be trusted and looked to and of use.

During the sermon, Sam was thinking so hard about Kurt he merely let his stare veer to his right, looking at Kurt's hands. Kurt was sitting with his knee crossed and both hands tucked around them, how he often sat in glee. Sam couldn't stop thinking about reaching over and holding his hand.

When the congregation shared peace, the first person Sam turned to was his Dom, hugging him eagerly.

"Oh, do we all hug?" Kurt asked, giving him a friendly pat. "Is this a Catholic thing? 'Cause it explains so much about you."

"You can just shake hands," Sam said, even though he was reluctant to let Kurt go. Kurt shook the hands of the couple in front of him. Sam hugged his family and shook every hand he could reach. This was kind of his favorite part of any service, but as it was Easter, everyone seemed particularly smiley.

So Kurt wouldn't feel left behind or awkward, Sam sat out communion.

"You can go!" Kurt whispered, looking worried.

"I don't have to do it," Sam told him. "I've been benched with Stacey asleep on me a ton of times."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. It's not mandatory." Sam smiled at him. "Hey, you forgot to steal from the collection plate."

"Do you think I should've put something in?"

"Nah. You don't need to do that. Or do or say anything you don't believe in just because the congregation is. No one minds. I, uh... can I hold your hand?" Sam asked him.

"Oh my gosh, is that allowed?"

"I don't think it's forbidden," Sam said optimistically.

"If it won't get you in trouble."

Smushing his lips together with pleasure, Sam edged his right hand over and took Kurt's left. The kick of excitement in his gut was unreal, and it escaped him in a puff that pulled his chest down hard. Kurt allowed Sam to pull his hand from his knee and onto Sam's, and their hands slid together while people ate paper-thin wafers and sipped wine at the altar, fingers finally interlocking.

When Sam's parents returned, ushering Stevie and Stacey, he felt a reflexive unease loosen Kurt's grip. But Sam sat there, happy as a clam, obliging his other knee to Stacey, and his dad reached over and ruffled the back of his hair a bit. After a minute, Kurt relaxed.

 

*

 

"Well," said Kurt, his hand still gathered in Sam's. Sam hadn't let go even during the mighty and majestic recessional hymn, but holding the hymnal with Kurt turning the pages had worked out. "This has been enlightening."

"Did Jesus build a springtime nest in your heart?" Sam asked. Kurt shot him a side-eye, then seemed to figure out he was totally just kidding.

"No, but that's good. I'm too young for heart troubles. I mean, this..."

He looked out at the somewhat mushy green church yard, where thirty or so kids, Stevie and Stacey among them, were getting kind of muddy, racing around for eggs. The eggs weren't really hidden so much as just scattered randomly in the grass. It was good for a few toddlers who could barely walk, let alone lug an Easter basket, but easy pickings for older kids like Stevie. Stacey was dragging, opening each egg she picked up to see if its contents were things she liked. Sam's mom had wandered out into the fray to try and prevent her from being so picky.

"Church?" guessed Sam.

"Well... sort of."

"Did it weird you out?"

"Well. No more than usual. It was interesting, sort of. Everything was so, um, grand. And regimented," murmured Kurt. "And the sermon was so short. I thought it was going to go on an hour, but it was like, ten or fifteen minutes. There's all this other stuff to do and the music is so _Phantom of the Opera_. It's actually bizarrely different than the church Mercedes goes to. I keep expecting the pope to pull up in his popemobile."

"We have to put on the popesignal if we want to summon him."

Kurt's shoulders clutched to keep him from laughing.

"I mean this, too." He swung their hands between them. "I see you come from a people who like to take a little hug break during worship, but hand-holding? In church? In front of your family? Color me surprised."

"Are you cool with it?" Sam asked him. "You looked tense. I just really wanted to hold your hand."

"I'm definitely cool with it. I guess what surprises me is that you're so cool with it."

"Would you not hold my hand in front of your family?" Sam asked, not exactly following.

"Of course I would. But they know me. They know who I am."

"Well, my family knows me. And it's not like God doesn't know you're my Dom. You know he has X-ray vision, right? And fire breath."

"Are you maybe confusing God with Godzilla?"

"I'm kidding with you! You can relax. I'm not, like, really uptight and literal about everything in the Bible."

Kurt swung their hands again. "Oh! Well, still. This is novel for me. I've never held hands with a boy. Not like this – like we're... together. I like that it's you. I like that it's here. I like that you haven't seemed to notice Quinn giving me truly the most terrifying of polite smiles."

"My mom said she was jelly beans," Sam told him. Kurt eyed him, still smiling, and Sam thought he probably understood.

Sam's dad rolled up and put his hands on Kurt and Sam's shoulders.

"Some hunt this is, huh!" he commented.

"Dad likes to make it a challenge," said Sam.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. He'll put the eggs in really weird places, like up in trees or places impossible to get to, or he'll put green eggs in green grass and yellow eggs in yellow flowers and stuff. There were always a handful that never got found each year."

"How Machiavellian!"

"Oh, Sam loved it when he was a kid," his dad attested. "The weirder the hiding place, the sweeter the victory. Plus, if it wasn't interesting, he'd wander off."

Kurt beamed up at Sam, who grinned sheepishly.

"So, you two. How about Breadstix for lunch?" Sam's dad asked.

"Um... uh, that sounds nice... we don't have to, though," Sam said warily, thinking of their empty savings account.

"It's a day to celebrate!" said his dad.

"Like, probably everyone's going there after church. It might take forever."

"That's okay. If they have kid's menus we'll ask for a couple while we wait. Kurt, you're a Lima native. You gotta like Breadstix, right?"

 

*

 

That night, Sam didn't feel like lying on his bag, and his mom noticed him trying to read the previously uncracked copy _The Catcher in the Rye_ he'd borrowed from Brittany for English instead, knew something was up, and asked, "You okay, honey? Did Kurt have a bad time?"

"No. I think... I think it went pretty good."

"Me too," she said, and offered him a crinkly-eyed smile. She was folding his blue shirt, which was clean now, since they'd gone to the laundromat. "But this morning you were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and now you're in the corner, looking gloomy."

"I didn't really sleep enough, so it's kinda hard to read this," Sam said with a sigh. This was so often the truth that it was a super effective lie, at least for a terrible liar like him. Anybody but his mom would've bought it. But she knew him too well. His mood had been steadily declining since they'd dropped Kurt off after lunch. He really didn't want to register a complaint, though. It had been nice of his parents to invite Kurt out to eat, and it was the thought that counted.

"Maybe if you eat a plate of spaghetti followed by an entire bag of chocolate eggs you'll be able to crash, too," she said, referring to the way Stacey was napping on the floor with Pinky Wigglenose under her arm and his dad was just about snoring on the bed.

"Yeah, after I puke," Sam joked.

"If you're tired, you should get some sleep," his mom commented. "It is a school night."

"Kurt might call."

"Okay. You wait for your Dom, then," she said calmly.

"You liked him. I could tell," Sam said, getting a little happier.

"Well, he caught me up on a bunch of the stuff on _General Hospital_ that I missed!"

Sam laughed softly. That had definitely happened. But Kurt had turned the topic of his last visit to church and how his dad had been in the hospital last fall into something light, at least, and then asked Stevie and Stacey what their favorite shows were. He and Stevie had even played tic-tac-toe about a dozen times, and after some protestation on Stevie's part about being allowed to win, Kurt had achieved a pretty convincing balance of wins and losses. And if he'd lost Sam's dad during the daytime dramas talk, he won him back by verifying that he ate meat.

"Did you think he... I dunno..."

"...Did I think he was a nice young man?"

"Never mind," he said, flushing and staring at the endless words on the pages in front of him.

"Well, I did think he was a nice young man," she said. "Very friendly and well-dressed and respectful. And I heard him singing at church, and you're right. He sounds like Faith Hill."

"Yeah. I like his voice," said Sam.

As it stretched past nine, Sam's phone finally vibrated in his pocket, and he dropped his book without so much as a dog-ear and hopped up, heading directly outside and into a chilly evening.

He flipped open his phone and pulled the door shut behind him before saying, "Hey."

"Hey!" said Kurt. "Are you busy?"

"No. Just failing at reading."

"Oh. Well, I just wanted to hear your voice," Kurt said. "Usually you call me by now..."

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged.

"Maybe you got sick of me," Kurt kidded. "I was with you all morning. But I have to say, I always like one-on-one time. And speaking of one-on-one, I wanted to ask you if you could come over after school on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or, well – basically any day this week."

"I have Tuesday off," said Sam.

"Perfect!" said Kurt. "Ask your parents!"

"'Kay."

"How are you tonight?"

"Fine, but I'm kinda bummed, I guess, if you want the truth," Sam murmured.

"Oh my God, why? Did I say something terrible to your parents? Are they disgusted I yammered about soaps for forty-five minutes?"

"It was more like ten," Sam said. "But, no. I just..."

He reached the picnic table, where his parents had held a number of serious conversations since they'd wound up here at the motel. Sometimes it was just with each other, and sometimes it was with him. He dropped himself onto the bench, not knowing what to say.

"Tell me what's wrong," Kurt prompted gently.

"I wish my parents hadn't dropped eighty bucks on Breadstix!" said Sam, just outing with it. "We can't afford it. I kept thinking of other stuff we could have bought with that money and it was hard to eat that food, thinking about it, but I made myself because my parents bought it for us. I wanted to enjoy it, but I couldn't. Not that I didn't like eating with you – I liked sitting with you and holding your hand under the table. And my parents really liked you and just wanted to treat you and be normal with you, I know, and it's not my place to tell my parents how to spend money when they're busting ass trying to get jobs so we won't be living on the street and stealing bread like in _Aladdin_."

"I... I had no idea it was a big deal," Kurt said, "or I would have said I had plans or something."

"I know you didn't know," said Sam. "I've never told you how poor we really are."

He sighed, the ocean of guilt that he'd been treading in for hours washing over him.

"Sam... I don't care how much money your family makes, or anything like that," Kurt told him. "You told me you guys have been having a rough patch. I totally get that."

"No. It's more than that. You don't know," said Sam, staring out at dim reflectors dotting the side of the highway. "We're barely getting by on what I make delivering pizzas."

"I know you give your parents your paychecks to help out. That's really selfless of you, Sam."

"No," Sam repeated. "I'm not selfless at all. We don't have any money, Kurt. My dad lost his job in January and the bank took our house in February. We had almost no savings, so we sold almost everything we had. We're – living at a motel right now. My parents are trying every day, but there just aren't any jobs right now. They've had a couple interviews, but nothing's panned out yet. Most of the time you have to know someone to get a foot in the door, and we're new here. We don't know anyone. It's so hard for them to even make interviews sometimes, especially with one car and three kids to take care of. I'm doing all I can, but it's not enough, and still, I have the nerve to want my own room back. I want my laptop back. I want my iPhone so I can play Angry Birds and listen to music. I want my guitar. I want to eat organic. But I know I can't have these things. So I don't want to worry that dinner at Breadstix is gonna mean we can't get allergy pills for Stevie or we can't send Stacey on a field trip to the zoo 'cause we don't have that money."

His babbling obviously put Kurt off, because there was just silence. Not even static.

"Those aren't selfish things to want," Kurt finally said.

"I shouldn't have said any of that," Sam said lowly. Now he was embarrassed. Double embarrassed. Why was his fuse so short lately? "You really only need food and shelter, and I have those things, and I have my family and work part-time so there's income, so there's no way we'll ever have to go to a homeless shelter. I'll drop out and deliver pizzas full time before I let that happen. I'm super fortunate to have gotten that job. I'm fortunate to not be on the street."

"Sam... you sleep in a sleeping bag, right? Is that because you don't have a bed?"

"We have a cot," said Sam. "But I sleep on the floor 'cause I like it. It suits me. You know."

More silence.

Sam's eyes darted around. "I don't mind it! And it's just temporary!"

"Of course it is!" said Kurt. "Just till your family gets back on its feet."

"Exactly! It's not like I'm in a gutter using newspapers for blankets!"

"No! And thank goodness for that."

"Right? I could have it much worse."

"Definitely. And it's not just you. A lot of people are having a hard time with the economy and finding jobs right now. And absolutely everybody goes through rough times and struggles, whether it's financial difficulties or abuse or illness or jail time or addiction. In Lindsay Lohan's case, it's all of the above and a whole laundry list of other things, including insane fame-whoring parents, _Herbie Fully Loaded_ , and tragic lip injections."

"See? At least I'm not Lindsay Lohan."

"Lindsay Lohan would kill to have beautiful lips like yours. She keeps trying, but –"

They both laughed lamely. Honestly, it didn't really help to compare himself to Lindsay Lohan, but he needed Kurt to believe it was all fine. More selfishness. He needed Kurt to be fine so he could be fine.

"Sam," repeated his Dom, speaking slowly. "I'd really like it if you would tell me what's going on with you. I realize we're still getting to know each other, and I can't know everything there is to know about you in a matter of a few weeks, but I feel like an idiot. I didn't realize you were dealing with anything more than a breakup or trying to get used to having me bossing you around. And I feel really worried if you don't trust me. As your Dom, I want to have actually earned your trust and confidence and I need to know your state of mind or I can't train you effectively."

"I'm sorry," Sam said dully. Tears were dropping heavily down his face and he couldn't really stop them, so he didn't try. "I'm not a good sub. I know that."

"Please don't talk like that. It's not true, and I really won't allow it anymore, and I have to ask that you bow to my authority, here, and stop this negative thinking pattern. When you put yourself down, you're abusing yourself and hurting yourself, and I don't like it. It's not good for you. It's like you're trying to discipline yourself, but for what, I don't know."

"Please forgive me, Kurt," Sam said, hastily wiping his face with his starchy open sleeve cuff, which ruffled around his collar reluctantly.

"For what?"

"Everything. Keeping secrets from you when you're my Dom, and thinking negative thoughts when I know you don't like that. I don't mean to. I don't want to. I don't like it. You're my only master but I still feel like everything I did with Quinn and Santana was wrong. And I feel really... guilty. I feel like there's something wrong with me."

"Well, you're Catholic, so I believe that may come with the territory."

"Episcopalian," said Sam, even though he got that Kurt was trying to joke with him.

"Gesundheit."

Sam laughed. And cried awkwardly, silently as possible, as Kurt went on.

"I honestly don't think you did anything wrong with your former Dommes. I think you were just wrong for each other, and there's nothing wrong with that. People break up all the time. Quinn and Santana are smart girls and both have their moments. But they wanted you because you were popular, and they fight all the time. You came to this school and immediately scored that coveted jock cred, and Santana snagging you was a massive power play against Quinn. And Quinn has had her troubles. I don't discount them, but I think she probably shouldn't be domming anybody. But she and Finn used to date last year before all the baby daddy drama, so maybe Finn is her one true sub. Who knows?

"But you – you are perfect. You're perfect for me, Sam. I actually kind of get why you might think it's easier to go it alone and not let anyone see that you're actually struggling. I'm a prideful person and I'm used to doing things on my own. People just don't tend to understand me. They often don't even try. So I'm used to other people not caring what I may be going through and dismissing it when I'm upset, especially because I'm gay, as if that makes me less of a person somehow. Sometimes I get irrationally angry when I feel like I can't bear my load alone. I don't like feeling like I'm not a strong enough person."

"That's exactly how I feel," Sam said, amazed.

"Really? Then, honey, I gotta say, we're more alike than I thought. You can tell me anything. I promise, I won't hear it as complaining. I won't judge you. If you feel like you don't want to tell me something that's between you and your family, I totally respect that. I respect you. But I really, really care about how you feel. I hope you know that. You're incredible and precious to me. You're amazing enough as it is, but the fact that you do so much for your family makes me admire you and treasure who you are even more. I'm really glad that you shared this with me."

"I'm really embarrassed," Sam managed, incapable of even the most ineloquent of thanks. "I feel like a freak."

"Embarrassed" didn't seem to cover it. It didn't begin to touch how worthless or helpless or worried he felt or how fiercely protective he was of his family.

"You don't have to feel that way – but it's personal, and vulnerable. Really, I understand that."

"Yeah."

"And I had no idea," Kurt repeated. "Does anyone else know?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Quinn."

"Ah."

"She followed me home last week. To where I'm staying, I mean."

"That bitch!"

"I think she maybe just... was worried."

"Right. Yeah. Yeah, that's normal, you're right. I will retract my claws."

"That's okay. You can catfight over me. I don't mind."

Kurt laughed warmly, and Sam took a deep, shaking breath and let it out again, feeling the worn wooden table chilly under his elbows in the still night air.

"Is there anything at all I can do to help you, sweetie?" his Dom asked. "You don't have to carry everything alone anymore."

"No! I'm fine! Don't, like, treat me any different or anything like that," Sam said, sort of worried. "I'm not a charity case. I can get by without all that stuff I mentioned earlier. I was just mad, but now I'm not anymore. I've been getting by fine. Honestly. I just want you to be my Dom like always and let me carry your books and let me – please, let me serve you. If you go gentle on me, I won't learn anything. I won't know how to be a good sub."

"I'll be gentle on you if I think you need gentle," Kurt said sternly. "That's my decision. Do you agree?"

"Yes," Sam admitted.

"You have an amazing sense of discipline, Sam. It's really incredible. I can tell how much your Dommes have meant to you. Your dedication makes you a wonderful sub and an enviable person and honestly, if you wanted to be a switch, I think you'd be great at it because your earnest discipline shines through. A lot of people don't have the self-control you do. Your diet, your exercise regime, your studying, your amazing capacity to give all you have, including yourself, to others... It's actually really hard for a lot of people, Dom or sub, to achieve things like that and have that willpower and inner strength. You're the exact opposite of what I'd consider a bad, bratty sub. But when your self-discipline becomes self-punishment, self-flagellation, I don't like that. And I want it to stop. You need to hand your punishment over to me. I'm your Dom. I appreciate that you want to behave, but disciplining you is my pleasure and my right. You're taking that away from me. How can I discipline you if you're busy doing that yourself? Nothing I say will mean anything to you."

"Yes. I'm sorry. I didn't think about it like that at all – I just – was trying to keep it together."

"It's okay. I understand that. And I understand why... I think. But do you understand why you can't be telling yourself that you're a bad sub?"

"Yes. I get it. It's not my place. I'll try not to."

"If you catch yourself doing it, stop. Stop, and feel good that you stopped yourself."

"Okay. I'll really try. Thank you."

"Good. I'm happy you'll really try to do that for me. And I heard what you said. I won't go easy on you all of a sudden. I agree that nothing has changed – except now, I'll know how to train you that much better and you'll understand that you need to let me."

"Yes," Sam gasped gratefully.

"I'm still going to tell you what to do."

"Yes."

"I'm still going to dom you all I want."

"Yes. Please, Kurt. Please."

"That's what you need, isn't it, cutie."

"Yes," Sam breathed. "I don't know how to even – say it."

"Mmm, good."

Sam waited for a few seconds. He felt like there should be something else.

"Am I gonna get punished?" he asked.

"Punished? Seriously?" Kurt asked coolly. "After the way you've been punishing yourself? I kinda can't tell if you're asking me 'cause you're afraid of punishment and you want to avoid it, or if you're actually requesting it."

"I don't know," Sam said, confused. "I'm kinda scared, but I keep thinking – I don't know. You're so nice to me all the time. I guess I'm not used to my Dom never getting pissed at me."

"Don't think for a second that the fact that I'm a romantic at heart means that I don't have it in me to do all kinds of things to you," Kurt told him, eliciting a sharp shiver of hope in Sam – not to mention a semi in his slacks. "But tonight – no. No, sub. I don't want to punish you for anything about this situation. It's not because I'm taking it easy on you. Actually, I'm proud that you shared true and honest feelings with me, and I don't feel you should be punished for doing that. I understand why you were keeping it to yourself. But I'm glad you told me."

"Oh," uttered Sam. When his Dom put it that way, he understood why it seemed like it was sort of a weird thing for him to have asked.

"I'm proud of you," Kurt repeated. "I'm happy to be getting to know you. I liked meeting your family. They're all so nice. Stacey obviously thinks I'm a freak, but hey, I'm not above bribery. I liked going to church with you. I still find religion bizarre, but it was nice, too, and – you looked so cute and so happy, it made me happy. I liked holding your hand. And I can't wait to see you again tomorrow."

"Would you tuck me in?" Sam asked, curling forward and resting his head on his arm. 

"Of course, sweetie. Start me off. What would make you a happy boy?"

"You. Taking a hot shower. I have some clean clothes, so... I'll feel good. Clean. Then my sleeping bag."

"Given the circumstances, I know I shouldn't find it precious that you camp down in a sleeping bag," Kurt said, "but I admit, I do. Tell me about it, please. What does it look like?"

"It's, like, a rust color," Sam said, amused that Kurt wanted it described to him but pleased because he could do that for Kurt. "Kinda dark orange. Inside it's really puffy and soft. Like flannel. It's kinda brown and red and blue checkered. Looks like squares. I got it a long time ago 'cause my dad and I used to camp all the time when I was younger, and I was in Cub Scouts too. It's heavy-duty. It makes me think about toasting marshmallows. It used to, anyway. Now I guess I think about other stuff. Like my cuffs. And stuff you said. About trying not to jizz in it."

"My little sub in his little sleeping bag," said his Dom. Sam could hear the abject leer and reddened against his arm. "Down on the floor, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm. It wouldn't be any good if you came in your sleep on that soft flannel, would it?"

"No." Sam shuddered vulnerably.

"Darn," said Kurt lightly.

"Someone in my family would notice," Sam wheezed.

"Oh. So you would never touch yourself in your little sleeping bag... or hump your pillow while everyone's fast asleep..."

"Touch a little," Sam admitted in a squeak.

"Oh," Kurt repeated, this time sounding devilishly pleased. "Tell me, have you ever jerked off while you've been living there?"

"Once. I just – there's no privacy and it's... depressing. There was only this one time when my mom took Stevie and Stacey out to the park and my dad was out selling some of our stuff. It was when I was with Santana, so. She told me I could touch her boobs and I was bummed about Quinn but kinda couldn't wait to do that, so – I kinda started jerkin' it in the shower, but. I stopped. I dunno. My head was a mess. I had this feeling I was disobeying, even though I wasn't Quinn's anymore. Nothing about it was good. I just felt jumpy and like I should stop. I thought if Santana wanted me to ask her first, too, I'd get in trouble..."

"You're so cute, Sam," said Kurt unexpectedly. "You really are. I love it."

"Thanks," Sam said, warming inside at the praise. Maybe he really had been good. Not for Quinn or Santana, but for Kurt.

"But you do get hard."

"'Course, constantly," he groaned.

"Of course. And you touch your hard sub dick a little sometimes. But no one knows."

"Mm..."

"I like that," Kurt declared.

Well, Sam was hard now. And not just casually. And it felt kind of weird, given he could feel dried tear tracks on his cheeks, but he was admitting a lot to Kurt, handing it over to him, and he felt lighter and even more aroused because it seemed like there was all this empty space in him now that Kurt was filling with other ideas.

"Have you ever thought about waiting till everyone's asleep to touch yourself a little more?" Kurt asked, something about his voice very light and careful.

"No," Sam said, rather shocked.

"I mean, like, good and asleep. So you wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing you or hearing you."

"...Have you ever shared a room with four other people??"

"Well, I've had sleepovers with Rachel and Mercedes," said Kurt. "And guess what? I got a stiff one thinking some inappropriate things about Taylor Lautner with Rachel and Mercedes snoring away in bed three feet from me. And, yes. They both snore."

"Taylor Lautner?" Sam asked intently. "What – do you want to dom him?"

"Not exactly. My point is, it was weird, but I also got over it when I realized they had no clue I was awake and thinking about how I'd never let my houseboy – played here by guest star Taylor Lautner – wear a stitch of clothing while scrubbing my floors on his hands and knees. If I could've gotten away with it, yes, I would've jerked off, but I didn't have my moist towelettes within reach, and it would have shown up on my blue silk PJs pretty bad if I'd made a mess. Since I wasn't at home, I didn't have any spares, or the foresight or intent to sneak a washcloth to bed with me."

"Jeez!" Sam murmured. If he hadn't needed to hold his phone he might've squeezed himself through his church pants.

"I'm scandalizing you, aren't I?" his Dom laughed.

"I just didn't know you liked Taylor Lautner so much," Sam said.

Kurt said, "Silly. I didn't have a sub then, and we'd just watched two _Twilight_ movies back-to-back and I spent the whole time peeping on that sub-tastic slab of low-fat beefcake. Taylor Swift, honestly. Who did he think he was fooling? My point is, I... I think your self-control really is one of the most amazing qualities you have as a sub. And I didn't even know you had it when I took you on. It's an unexpected delight. But what if I gave you permission to let it go a bit? What if I told you I think you should jerk off sometimes? What would you say?"

"...Do you want me to?" Sam asked. He was aware right then that if Kurt wanted him to scrub his floor naked, he would.

After a little pause, Kurt decided, "Yes. Just for tonight, I want you to give it a try. If you think you can, I mean. I don't want you to get in trouble with your parents, but also, I'm not going to pass on the opportunity to suggest you jerk it just because you have even less privacy than I realized. What about that hot shower? Do you think you could give that another go?"

Sam, too, gave it a moment of consideration, trying to think over the noise of his heart and humming arousal. "Yes."

"If you think you can do that for me, I'd like it. I'd like it if you would think about what a good sub you're being. I know you said you felt kind of messed up before, but now, you're my sub, Sam, and I'm not those girls. I like that my sub is so obedient for me and will do whatever I ask, and is so sexy, and so horny, and needs to come... don't you, cutie-pie?"

"Please," Sam managed.

"Maybe when you snuggle down in your sleeping bag tonight, you'll have had a nice hot shower and you'll be wearing clean clothes and you'll be so comfy and sleepy 'cause you would have come for your Dom. Hm, sweetie. Does that sound nice?"

"Yes."

"Now you can go get ready for bed, can't you?"

"Yes."

"Remember to ask about Tuesday, if you can."

"Yes, Kurt."

"That's my good boy."

Sam whimpered softly.

"Sleep well, honey. I'll see you in the morning and you can tell me all about your sweet dreams."

"'Kay."

"Nighty-night."

"Night, Kurt."

Sam hung up and sat in silence at the picnic table, blinking at his surroundings as he became aware of them again. It was weird... Kurt knew he was staying here now, but it really didn't feel like anything had changed. Kurt still wanted to dom him. It was a massive relief, yet Sam felt like he should've known that Kurt wouldn't toss him like a used Kleenex.

After replaying the directions enough in his mind that he felt like he definitely understood them, Sam pulled himself off the bench and wandered dazedly back to his family's room, with his phone and one hand in his pocket, occupied with grabbing at his hard-on to try and keep it on the downlow. His mom had finished folding clean laundry and seemed to be pensively reading his copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_ , which was a change, because usually she was buried in the classifieds or _Job Hunting For Absolute Morons_.

"If you actually read that, can you give me the CliffsNotes version?" Sam asked, closing and locking up behind him.

"I'll give you a good trailer. But is it just me, or is Holden Caulfield a real whiner?" she asked.

"Pretty much." Sam plucked some boxers, his usual sweatpants, and a tank top from the basket of clean laundry. His jeans, green button-down, gym shirt, and blue hooded shirt were all clean, too. "Um, I'm gonna take a shower."

"Okay, Sammy. Remember to hang your dad's suit up so he can wear it this week."

"'Kay," said Sam. "Also, Kurt wants to know if I can go to his house on Tuesday. Since I have the night off. He asked me to dinner last week but it was too busy."

"Dinner? Will his parents be there?"

"I'm pretty sure. And Finn. His step-brother."

"Okay, then. That sounds fun."

"Cool," eeped Sam, and escaped into the bathroom. The counter was littered with a stack of extremely cheap beach towels his mom had gotten for them at K-Mart because they kept running out before the maids could restock them, all of their toothbrushes and deodorant and junk like that, plus his dad's cell, which was charging there at the available plug. He didn't really pay attention to any of it; he had a direct, like... order. From his Dom. He turned the shower on, edging the lever only midway to "H" so he wouldn't use up all the hot water too fast.

He got naked except for his collars, which he always wound up staring at in front of mirrors, and watched himself slowly wrap a hand around his hard-on, working it and pulling in a deep breath. God. He really loved the way the cuffs looked and felt on him with his dick in his hand like that. He got even harder looking right down at his wrist and realizing what it really meant. 

"I'm being a good sub," he mouthed, looking at himself in the mirror with some sense of duty.

After a minute, Sam stopped stroking, something in him telling him he was getting too close, and removed his cuffs as reluctantly as always. Being very careful and reverent, he put them one by one on top of the sloppily folded pile of his dad's slacks and button-down, then hovered there an extra second to make sure they wouldn't slide off and fall to the floor. Then he clambered quickly into the tub, drawing the curtain behind him. The light was so terrible in the bathroom that Sam was almost in the dark with the plastic curtain drawn. Usually the dark kind of annoyed him, but just then it did give him an extra sense of privacy. Between him and his family there was a thin door and a thin curtain, but the noise of the water in the pipes and spraying against the tub layered him into a little cocoon.

His entire family all shared the same bottles of dollar shampoo and conditioner, used the same bar of dollar soap. It didn't matter. It worked. Sam grabbed for the soap, then leaned his head right under the soft beat-down of only slightly warm water and mindlessly lathered up his hands and arms.

 _I'm a good sub_ , he kept repeating to himself as he scrubbed himself down. Every time he thought it, he thought of Kurt, and that fact alone had him skirting that safe space where he went when he was one hundred percent preoccupied with his Dom, so he got more and more certain and daring in his thoughts. _I'm Kurt's sub. I'm Kurt's now, so. My collars are right there. He's seen me like this, all naked and wet and super boned. In the bath._ He palmed and rolled his balls with soapy fingers, huffing and reminding himself, _He knows what I'm doing. He knows I'm in the shower right now. He wants me to touch myself. I will. Kurt said I should. For him. I'm – I'm a good sub. I'm his good sub._

He squeezed his eyes shut so shampoo wouldn't slide into them and immediately plunged like a stone right down into his most base fantasy, which had gotten a wicked bump since last week. Wouldn't it be better if he was on his knees, and his Dom's hands were in his hair instead, rubbing in all the soap and sweeping it back from Sam's face and telling him he could have it once he was clean – Sam could have his dick in his mouth.

Now Sam knew what it was like to have that. Even if it had only been for what seemed like a few seconds. He knew how capable his mouth was of taking it, how his lips tugged, and how frantic his head had been bobbing in Kurt's lap like there was no tomorrow. The soap was quickly getting beaten out of his hair as he thought about his hands being Kurt's and tilted his chin up, seeking out that feeling of submission. Kurt pet his hair like this. Something about imagining Kurt in the shower with him made him imagine boarding school, and the locker room, and dick service, and –

He would.

He would do it.

If Kurt walked into the locker room at McKinley and found Sam in the shower, Sam would be on his knees so fast. Forget the soft room. Forget Brookside. If Kurt let him, Sam would service his Dom's dick in front of the entire fucking football team, Karofsky and Azimio and Finn and all the rest of the glee guys, and everyone would see how powerful and generous and hot Kurt was and what a lucky little sub Sam was to be getting to suck his cock.

That was it.

Clutching the edge of tub for a hot second, Sam lowered himself right down onto his knees, knowing he needed to be there and craving the feeling. They awkwardly hit each side of the tub, not allowing his legs much room to open as he sat back tensely on his calves, water hitting the back of his head and cascading down his spine. Kurt was right, he was tall to be in a tub. Kurt.

He grabbed and pumped at himself with frenetic fingers, feeling like a good sub for being down on his knees – he was being a good sub, he really was – and hanging on to that desperate desire to serve Kurt, naked and wet and picturing himself kneeling in the most vulnerable place he knew of: the showers in the locker room. The water rushing over his shoulders made it so visceral in his imagination. He gasped, body flexing eagerly as if doing so would somehow prove how ready he was, and Kurt would see, would get it, would break the rules and have Sam suck his cock right in the locker room.

"Please," he heard himself whisper, lips sputtery-wet, and shot off over the back of his hand.

It was almost a shock to his system, being in control of his own pleasure and jacking it right up out of himself like he hadn't in, like, six months – but it was a good one because he knew Kurt would tell him he was a good boy, and just knowing that, he wrung himself out eagerly, feeling immensely obedient with each pulse of come.

After a few seconds, it was over, and Sam sighed at his jizz-webbed fingers, suddenly really exhausted. That hadn't been near as intense as any of the times he'd come with Kurt, but it was familiar and carried a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction anyway. With his clean hand, he reached back and turned the temperature all the way up, then basked lazily in the hot flow, rolling his palm against his cock as he knelt there and softened, touching himself just because he could.

By the time Sam emerged from the bathroom again, he was warm and pruney and drowsy, and had shimmied into his sweatpants and tank top and strapped his collars back on. His mom was under the floral blanket beside his dad. She didn't say anything about how long he'd been in there, and didn't say anything as Sam headed right for his sleeping bag. She was still reading _Catcher_ , the bedside lamp giving her a dim golden glow. It was good for her to get her mind off job-hunting, he realized, unshackled from his sense of responsibility and failure. She deserved a break. And so did his dad. It seemed suddenly extremely obvious that his parents were likely planning for them all to have a nice family dinner out anyway, no matter if Kurt was along or not, and clearly weren't stressing any extra about the money. There was no way they would have spent that money if they didn't have Stevie's Claritin covered.

With that final burden evaporating from him, Sam hit the pillow. And even though he was used to purposefully carving out time to think private thoughts, Easter Sunday night was particularly quiet at the American Family Motel and Sam's brain was super empty, so he fell instantly asleep.

 

*

 

The moment Sam saw Kurt appear in the hallway, he reached up and twisted the red face on the lock, overshooting the first number of his combination immediately. He had it unlocked and Kurt's locker open for him when Kurt reached his side.

"Hi," he said eagerly.

"Morning, hot stuff," Kurt said, making Sam laugh breathily. Hot stuff? That was a new one. But he definitely wasn't averse to Kurt calling him that. "Hold this for me?"

Kurt offered his bag, which Sam took eagerly, shouldering it on top of his own backpack's strap.

"Boys," said Puck in lazy greeting, passing them by with a toothpick in his mouth even though it was 7:45 in the morning. He lifted a hand, and Sam gave him a high five.

Kurt arched a brow and watched Puck swagger onwards, unbuttoning three entire double rows of buttons on a tan trench with a collar that was royally high. Sam watched his Dom instead, more interested in watching his fingers work and the buttons come open than the bustle of kids trying to make it to their first class on time. Kurt wore so many things with so many buttons and other complex fastenings.

"Are you taking that off?" Sam asked.

"I know, it's a lot of work, isn't it," Kurt said.

"Well – can I help you? Like –"

Sam stepped from his usual place to the right, vigilant beside Kurt's open locker, sliding behind Kurt and touching his slinky shoulders. He saw that the jacket had some kind of blue stain on the back. Well, it wasn't a stain. It was a flower and had been painted or printed there on purpose even though it looked almost accidental. He could see that now that he was looking at it closer.

"Oh! Well – yes," Kurt said, clearly surprised at the offer. "Thank you."

Carefully, Sam reached around and peeled the jacket back, easing it around Kurt's shoulders and pulling it off his arms. He was pretty used to helping his little brother and sister get in and out of coats and clothes and all that. Stevie was pretty independent about getting dressed now, but Stacey had her stubborn days. In either case, it wasn't something entirely unfamiliar to him, but it still felt good to touch his Dom's clothes and help him like that. He was used to just kinda stuffing his letterman jacket into his locker, but for Kurt's jacket, he brought it back around to him in both hands, holding it straight.

"How kind of you," Kurt commented, in his low, flirty way.

"It's cool. Thank you for letting me," said Sam.

"You seem like you're in a good mood this morning," said Kurt, hanging his jacket up. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good."

His Dom, who was smiling, gave him a little once-over that Sam knew had nothing to do with his outfit of clean jeans and his worn gray henley with red raglan sleeves, which he wore about twice a week and which he'd covered today with one of his dad's plaid button-downs in the dim hopes that no one would notice. The shirt's cuffs were unbuttoned and rolled up just enough to show off his collars.

"Uh-huh?"

"Really good," Sam repeated.

"Really, now."

Warm-faced, Sam leaned in and whispered to his Dom confidentially, "I had a hot shower."

Kurt's smile spread.

"I bet that felt good," he said, reaching to Sam's cheek and giving it a gentle, playful pinch. The corner of Sam's mouth perked right up against Kurt's thumb, and Sam let his head dip, feeling very much like he was in Kurt's hand – not just his fat cheek, but all of him, totally. Kurt's hand opened and held the side of his face, thumb sliding along Sam's cheek bone, and Sam's forehead touched his Dom's. It was warm with both of their faces close, and a little intense because Sam felt so grateful and safe.

"Man, do we gotta see this crap every single day?"

It was Azimio, walking by with Karofsky. Kurt's eyes went right to him, sharp.

"What is it with glee club? You always gotta put on a show? Know what? As a member of the Heckling Club, I heckle you! This ain't no stage!"

Sam's arm crept around Kurt's side, all his protective instinct funneling itself. A couple of months ago he would've stopped Azimio in his tracks, given him a shove to inform him he didn't care that the guy had, like, a hundred pounds on him, but he knew Kurt got pushed around by these guys a lot and abhorred their methods, which were kind of Sam's methods, too. So instead he just attached himself right to Kurt like a shield, turning him unthinkingly back into the lockers so no one could reach him to push him.

"Ain't nobody wanna see your fairy show, lady-boys!" Azimio crowed, and knocked Karofsky in the arm for some solidarity, but Karofsky just shuffled on, glowering, and Azimio's focus seemed to shift away from them and onto his friend. He complained, "You ain't fun no more."

"I just don't care about them, okay," Karofsky grumped. "It's too early for me to care." 

Kurt exhaled tensely, staring at them as if he had laser vision.

"Say the word and I'll punch their faces in," Sam said.

"No," said Kurt, glancing up at him and relaxing. "No, don't. They don't bother me near as much as they used to, and I don't want you to get in trouble."

He looked down, just seeming to realize that Sam had backed him up against the lockers, and gave Sam's cheek a broad, reassuring pat.

Sam backed off apologetically, but Kurt caught his hand, slid his fingers between Sam's, and said, "Walk me to French?"

 

*

 

Glee was a total bust that day, in that Finn actually busted Rachel's nose five seconds into dance rehearsal and Mr. Schue had to leave and take her to the doctor immediately. Finn, who was apologizing embarrassingly profusely and really aggravating the crap out of Quinn doing so, went with them. Their piano player rolled his eyes and left, and with that, most of the glee club peaced out, but Sam and Kurt stayed. Besides study hall – which they'd actually attended, as much as Sam had been hoping they might ditch – glee was their only time together.

Puck and Zizes didn't leave, instead choosing to rifle through all the drawers and closets and props backstage in the hopes of maybe finding something interesting.

"Jumbo Sharpie, score!" they heard Zizes say. 

"Aw, yes! Good find. Great for bathroom graffiti and killing off all those pesky extra brain cells just wasting valuable real estate in my head."

"I guess I'll just hang up my prom posters alone," Quinn said icily. Since Finn wasn't there, Sam guessed she wasn't saying it to anyone in particular, but he shared a look with Kurt.

"Would you like our help, Quinn?" Kurt said.

Sam didn't know if it was a totally facetious offer or what, since he kind of got the picture that Kurt and Quinn weren't high on each other's lists right then.

"Oh, don't trouble yourselves over me," she said, aloof.

When Kurt gave Sam a tug on his sleeve, Sam said, "We can help if you want, it's not trouble," and earned a little smile from his Dom.

Quinn turned a doubtful look on them, looking as if she had her own personal rain cloud overhead.

"The posters are actually a little heavy," she said reluctantly, "so if one of you maybe wanted to carry them, that would be great."

So that was how Sam wound up helping his ex-Domme hang up campaign posters featuring her and her new sub.

He carried the posters, anyway, which were large and printed on nice photo paper that made the stack of fifty or so cumbersome, and trailed after Kurt as he helped suggest spots and peel off tape to stick on the backs of them.

It wasn't his ideal afternoon – but Kurt and Quinn were being polite to each other, discussing the prom decor ("I'm letting other people handle that," said Quinn) and dresses ("I've narrowed it down to three, but I'll have to choose after I decide what to do with my hair," she said) and who was going with who, and with his arms full of posters, Sam realized suddenly that maybe Kurt was interested in the prom.

Sam hadn't even really thought about it. In middle school, Brookside had partnered with its sister school, Meadowside, for dances, but Sam had only gone to one. It had just been kind of awkward. Nobody had actually danced, since most people didn't really know each other. With his work schedule and lack of any extra cash and the fact that he wasn't dating an expectant girl anymore, he hadn't considered going, like, at all, not even just to decide not to go.

Following Kurt and Quinn, he watched his Dom carefully, trying to gauge his interest. Kurt sounded very cheery, like he had with Sam's parents, so Sam knew he was trying to be extra nice to Quinn. But he really was interested in stuff like planning events and fashion, so the fact that he was talking about animal prints and whether stuff was trendy or whatever – it was hard for Sam's brain to really keep track of the nitty-gritty; it all sounded kind of the same to him and he didn't know the difference between necklines anyway – didn't mean he was actually into prom.

"It's pushing five," Kurt finally told Quinn, once they'd applied at least three posters to every wall in the cafeteria. "Sam needs to get home soon."

"Oh, right," Quinn said, smoothing her floaty lacy skirt.

"Want me to put the rest of these somewhere?" Sam asked.

"If you could put them in my backseat, I'd really appreciate it," said Quinn.

"Sure."

"Great!" said Quinn airily. "Thanks for your help, Kurt. I wish Finn had realized that going to the doctor with Rachel would only continue to put her nose in harm's way, but. I guess he was determined to be considerate. Tell him to call me if you see him lounging around at home."

"Will do," Kurt said. "How about you go with Quinn, Sam? I'll get our books and meet you out in the parking lot."

"'Kay," said Sam. He was slightly amazed that Kurt had been calling Quinn a bitch and talking about claws coming out last night on the phone; right then he seemed perfectly at ease with letting Sam go off alone with his ex-Domme – in service, even.

"This way, Sam," said Quinn.

Habitually, Sam followed, glancing over his shoulder once at Kurt heading down the hall in the opposite direction.

"I'm glad to get you alone, actually," Quinn confessed, leading him out the door by the cafeteria, which was student parking directly by the track and football field, where all the Cheerios always parked. "I have something for you, and I wasn't sure how to give it to you, with you and Kurt attached at the hip nowadays. Even at church! You certainly gave my mom and her Christian Divorcées group something to talk about. I was answering a lot of questions."

"Sorry 'bout that," said Sam.

"That's okay. I told them you weren't totally gay, just... curious and probably a little confused. That's right, isn't it?"

"Sure," said Sam. He was kind of legit sorry, but honestly, he didn't really care what a bunch of middle-aged busy-bodies and soccer moms thought he was.

"I mean, you weren't gay when we were together, were you?" Quinn asked sharply. "I wasn't just your _beard_ , was I?"

"No – of course not."

"I didn't think so."

Sam sighed, peering for Quinn's little red car with its Cheerios bumper sticker.

"Look, sorry people were asking you questions. Tell them whatever you want. That's what Santana did."

"You don't seem to care about your reputation anymore," she noted loftily.

"Can you blame me? Look at me these days."

"So you don't care at all what people are saying about you?"

"Yeah, I mean, I care, if it affects Kurt, or might affect my parents," said Sam, remembering Azimio's groaning at Kurt's extremely mild and inoffensive PDD that morning, and Jacob Ben Israel getting all up into his business. "But what can I do? People gossip so much here."

"It's a little like I'm talking to a totally different person than the guy who took me to the astronomy room to tell me we were stars."

"Well, you're not. I still think you're a star. But I just have to think about surviving in a different way now. Maybe I'm not at the top of the high school food chain anymore, but." He dared to say it: "I think maybe I'm supposed to be where I am now."

As if she didn't care to hear that, Quinn walked ahead, pulling keys out of her purse. He heard her unlocking her car remotely with an audible little clunk of all its locks, and the handle clicking as she opened a back door for him. Happy to ditch the posters he'd carried for over an hour, Sam tried not to bend or crunch any of the ones left over as he eased them into the seat. Then he carefully shut Quinn's door for her and blinked when she stepped up to him and handed him a non-descript white paper bag, the kind with thin little handles, like a shopping bag or a gift bag. He took it without thought. It was actually heavy.

"What's this?"

"It's your birthday in a week and a half," she said.

"Uh – Quinn... you didn't need to do this," Sam managed. He wasn't Stevie or Stacey. He didn't need an Easter basket. He didn't need bribery or pity, and this felt exactly like one of those things, not a gift. He didn't even know what it was, but the fact that it was heavy and the bag actually on the large side made him extra uncomfortable.

"We're friends."

"But you didn't need to!"

"I wanted to," she said. "The receipts are in the bag, so if you don't like any of it, you can exchange it."

"I can't," Sam said, thrusting the bag back at her. His skin was crawling with embarrassment. Kurt was going to meet him out here. He'd have Sam's books. Sam couldn't accept whatever this was.

"It's a birthday present for you from a friend," she said, breaking out her Dommiest voice, wherein she seemed to give every syllable deadly weight and purpose.

After a statement like that, Sam felt boneless, impotent; he didn't want it to, but that tone and control left him awestruck. Quinn reached out and casually pushed the bag, which he was still holding out to her, back against his chest.

"Take it. If you absolutely have to, ask Kurt whether it's okay to accept it."

Game, set, match. Sam took the bag reluctantly. He knew Kurt would tell him to accept the gift, especially after making so nice with Quinn today.

"Thanks," he said, feeble. "I feel so bad... I didn't even know you knew my birthday."

Quinn sighed, looking annoyed.

"Of course I know your birthday. We dated for five months. And I see Kurt power-walking toward us, so my time with you is over, and I'll leave you two alone. I hope you like what I got you, Sam. Thanks for carrying my posters."

She turned, shutting her car door, so Sam turned, too, spotting Kurt in his tan trench belted close around his waist, bustling swiftly down their row of mostly empty parking spaces with Sam's backpack hanging casually on one shoulder. He broke into an abrupt jog towards his Dom. He heard Quinn's door slam.

"Let's get you to the bus stop," Kurt called. He knew Sam's 5:05 well, and knew there wasn't another bus for almost an hour. "What's that you have?"

"A present from Quinn," Sam admitted. "I – didn't ask for it or anything."

"You didn't ask your ex for a present? Okay," Kurt teased him gently. "Man, I really need to take a page from that girl's book. I may not like said book, but she has some tricks up her sleeve."

"I don't want it," Sam murmured.

Kurt took him by the elbow, steering him toward the bus stop that was all the way across the parking lot. "You don't?"

"I feel weird," he said desperately. "What do I do with it? I don't want to take it home."

"Want me to hang onto it for you?" Kurt asked him.

"Is that okay?" Sam wondered.

"That's fine! I don't mind. Do you know what it is?"

"No, but it's heavy, so I'm kinda freaked out."

"It's not a severed horse head or something, is it?" Kurt joked. "Here. I'll trade you. You take your books and I'll take the bag."

Sam took his backpack eagerly and handed over the bag.

"Oh! It is heavy," Kurt commented, startled. "You don't have any guesses?"

"No, I don't know," he said, hiking his backpack on. "I don't know why she would give me anything."

"Is she trying to be friendly? Or maybe she feels guilty for stalking you."

"Either – but still."

"Well, don't worry yourself about it. I'll take it home with me, and if you want, you can open it after school, since you're coming home with me tomorrow, right?"

"Right," said Sam, forgetting about the bag pretty abruptly. "I'm coming home with you."

"I can't wait," Kurt said, his voice melodic and light.

"What are we gonna do?"

"Mmm, lots of stuff, I hope," said his Dom.

"I can't wait, either!"

At the bus stop, Kurt had about fifteen seconds to bid him goodbye before the bus rolled to a full stop, and he gave Sam a one-armed hug, pecking his jaw and stroking the shaggy hair at the nape of Sam's neck, where it curled up because it was too long. Sam hugged him back, listening to Kurt chuckle in his ear.

 

*

 

"Excited?" Kurt asked him knowingly.

"I like your room," Sam said, instead of telling Kurt that in reality, his room was, like, insta-boner-ville.

"Uh-huh..." Kurt leered and opened the door, ushering Sam in with a pat to the bottom.

Sam blinked at the white walls and shelves stuffed with an assortment of books and stuff that he'd not really noticed either times he'd been in here before.

The first time, he'd been drunk and it had been dark and cozy, and the main thing that had mattered to him was simply following Kurt's directions and the alcohol-sopped, floaty sensation of being given a great gift. Thinking about it now, he realized in his heart of hearts that he had submitted to Kurt that night not just as a sub, but as _his_ sub.

The second time, Kurt had just collared him and had let Sam suck him off in car right in the driveway. Sam had been so subbed out that the room hadn't mattered and had only been made of light and shapes, the bed the center of the whole world because it was his Dom's bed, where Sam had been made to pose and present. One thing he did remember with a vivid clarity was the sight of his own come thick and shining in a dark fur bedspread. He must have ruined it, because it wasn't on Kurt's bed now.

This time, Sam looked around and took things in a little more. Sam's room back at his old house had been absolutely nothing like this, and he doubted most guys' rooms were. It was just so... clean. There were no stray basketballs. No sports posters. He saw Kurt had some kind of table with a mirror back in an alcove; it was lined with neatly organized products. Maybe that eye cream Kurt had mentioned was amongst all the other stuff Sam didn't recognize.

The headboard of his bed was like a grand panel, luxurious burgundy suede with gold studs, set back slightly into the wall. Columns of built-in shelves bracketed it on either side and black iron lamps were placed just above it, dim right then. To the left of the bed, there was a dark wood dresser with a fancy stained glass lamp sitting on each end and several neat little boxes with mystery contents lined up between them. The big square mirror above it had a bunch of scarves slung over it, hiding most of the reflective surface.

The shelves opposite his bed had books with titles like _Monet_ , some pictures in frames, weird but intriguing stuff like a glittery silver skull and a white seahorse under glass, and a mod, sleek white stereo system. There were a couple of pieces of art on the wall, artsy black and white stuff that reminded Sam a lot of some of the pictures Kurt had given him on his Lego flash drive.

In all, especially compared to Sam's current living space, it felt pristine, elegant, and far too nice for him to be in. He let out a breath that was both impressed and nervous, shoving his hands into sheepishly his pockets.

Kurt shut the door behind them, and Sam heard an extra click that he deduced to be a lock sliding into place.

"You okay?" he asked Sam, seeming alert.

"Yeah," Sam assured him.

"It's still a work in progress," Kurt said, crossing his arms next to Sam and bouncing on his feet.

"What?"

"My room! We've only lived here for a few months. I'm still tinkering. I want it to be light, but have some classic features and masculine texture to it. Minimal clutter. Let the headboard do the talking. I'm not sure about the drapes yet."

"It's awesome," said Sam. "It looks... just like that. What you said. You should have a show on HGTV."

Kurt laughed lightly.

"Glad you like." He turned, giving Sam a once-over that Sam didn't know how to interpret. Was he looking super slobby? He kind of felt slobby, even though Kurt looked dressed down. If a guy could look dressed down in suspenders with red stitching. Kurt managed it. He was wearing a gray striped henley underneath them and its top button was undone, which for Kurt was pretty fancy-free. "Make yourself comfortable. If you want to take your shoes off, feel free. Wanna ditch your backpack?"

Sam depocketed again and slid the straps of his backpack down his arms, and as Kurt offered a hand, he gave the bag to him, not knowing where else to put it. Kurt carried it over to an old fashioned-looking steel and vinyl chair in the corner by tall satiny white curtains that hung aside a big open window that let in a ton of light. He guessed those were the drapes Kurt was uncertain about. Kurt laid his own messenger bag beside Sam's backpack in the cream-colored seat, then turned and flashed Sam a sultry smile.

"Alone at last," he said.

"Yeah," Sam responded shyly.

"What do you think I've been planning for our little get-together?" Kurt asked him, drifting over with his hands clasped in front of him in a way that seemed anything but demure.

Sam blinked, pulse picking up in an instant, and shook his head spastically as he clutched his hands, too, mirroring Kurt without exactly meaning to.

"We have lots of time," Kurt said, casual. "We can do whatever we want."

"Oh," Sam let out.

"Any ideas?"

Sam had literally no idea of what Kurt could possibly have planned. He knew what he wanted... which was anything and everything... but to get specific, he was still pining to be allowed to suck off his Dom. But Kurt had deferred the plea twice now. Sam didn't know if asking for the third time would be the charm or if Kurt would hold out on him till he threw a Stacey-style tantrum or if there was a magic word or some specific way he needed to ask to make Kurt change his mind.

He must've stood there blankly for too long, because Kurt chuckled at him.

"Are you maybe thinking about the stuff we did in here last week?"

"I'm thinking about lots of stuff, but mostly I'm thinking about how I don't know what you planned, so I don't know what I should say," Sam responded.

Kurt tilted his head, then reached out to squeeze at Sam's shoulders in his gentle, delicate way. His touch slid down Sam's biceps reassuringly.

"There's no right or wrong answer."

"Oh, so... I'm not supposed to know?" Sam asked.

"Nope. I don't expect you to read my mind. Just like I can't read yours. So I'll tell you what I'm thinking if you tell me what you're thinking."

Sam wasn't exactly convinced Kurt could not, in fact, read his mind, but he blurted obediently, "I'm thinking – I wanna – blow you... but I don't know if you'll let me... 'cause I don't know what you want. Maybe you wanna... just play checkers."

"Checkers?" Kurt repeated, amused. "Hm. How cute. I'll be happy to king you if you want."

Sam laughed stupidly.

"I mean, I bet it'd be fun to play board games with you, but that is definitely not what I had in mind for today," said Kurt.

Sam stood there, heat gathering in his face, his chest rising steeply over his breaths. Duh, he told himself, but honestly, he was ecstatic to be wrong even if that had been an idiotic thing to say. Checkers.

"I think," Kurt said deliberately, hands sliding down Sam's forearms, "it's the hottest thing ever that you want to blow me so bad, Sam. I confess, it's one of the things I had in mind for today. To let you do that. If that's really something you want."

Sam's inhale was wild, alarmed; Kurt went on before he could start begging right then.

"But you have to let me get you ready. You have to be a good boy for me first. How's that sound?"

"Please," Sam breathed.

"Yeah? You want to be a good boy for me?"

"Yes, Kurt, please – I'll do anything –"

"No shirt, no shoes, no service," Kurt responded playfully. "I want them off."

Sam was halfway out of his shirt before it occurred to him: "What about socks?"

"Hm! I like your attention to detail. Take 'em off."

Struggling like he'd never struggled before, Sam got somehow caught in his shirt, and urgency was shooting through him so hard, it took him what felt like forever to fight his way out. Quinn had let him take his shirt off a few times; his automatic response to it was as bone-tastic as Kurt's room in and of itself was, so he knew his dick was pushing at the front of his loose-fit jeans, called to attention by absolutely everything. The room, the air on his bare skin, his Dom, the idea of blowing him, the idea of having to earn his way to it. He was so game. He knew what he was good for. If Kurt would just let him – 

"Do I fold it??" Sam asked hurriedly, getting the sleeves off from where they were snagged at his cuffs.

"I'll do it."

Sam would have folded it. He was totally willing. But he handed it to Kurt without protest, craning to watch Kurt shake it right-side-out again even as he stooped to pull his sneakers off. His shoelaces were always a little loose and sloppy, so they didn't put up near as much of a fight as his shirt, and he yanked his socks off one after the other, stuffing them into his sneakers and watching Kurt put Sam's neatly-folded t-shirt on his dresser. He was outright panting as Kurt sashayed back to him, rounding him and looking at him. Praying he didn't look as chubby as he felt, Sam flexed, his belly tensing, and Kurt smirked as he eyed him.

"Lie down in the middle of my bed. On your back."

Scrambling, Sam was there in a second, blinking in pleasure that seemed crazily extreme. His Dom's bed. He felt so lucky.

"On my back? Like this?" he wanted to know, leaning back on pillows that were fluffy and went at least three deep to the headboard. He was on his back, but kind of propped up. He clutched his arms awkwardly across his lap.

"Mm-hm. And put those hands down on the mattress. Just like that, sweetie. Stay like that."

Palms flattened aside his hips, Sam stayed, staring at his Dom, who didn't divest himself of anything, not even his shoes. He just looked at Sam lying on his bed and stepped toward it, fingers touching the bedspread on the edge of the mattress and sliding up as he drew in closer.

Moving slow and careful and controlled, Kurt leaned and climbed onto the bed next to him. A strong sensory flashback to the nurse's closet at McKinley flushed through Sam as Kurt lowered himself to his elbow at his side and tipped a knee up over Sam's, curling up and resting some of his warm weight on Sam's side and arm. He rested his cheek in his left hand casually.

This was like the soft room, Sam thought repeatedly. His thoughts were chasing their own tail. This was like Friday. He was laid out for his Dom. His body was for Kurt to look at and touch – or not – head to bare toe. Was Kurt going to kiss his neck, like Friday? Let him touch back, like Friday?

"That's a good boy," Kurt commented softly. Sam's mind was spinning, blurring. He hadn't really done anything except follow directions, he guessed, but he moaned for Kurt anyway, both pleading and happy. He was just so lucky. So lucky. Kurt reached over and traced his collar bone, right where the hickey he'd given Sam last week had been, making Sam feel like he was plunging even further into some kind of ecstatic abyss. "You're excited to get to spend the afternoon here with me, hm, cutie?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed honestly, staring up at Kurt's eyes, which were shuttered halfway by delicate dark lashes. This was the same guy who had come to church with him and shaken hands with his parents, but only Sam saw this part of him and knew him like this. Words, slightly ashamed but sincere, flew out of the whirl of thoughts in him. "'M sorry. I'm so excited. I just. Kurt. I wanna be with you. I wanna serve you."

A coy smile spread on Kurt's mouth. "That's honest, isn't it."

"Yes. I like – being honest with you."

"Well. Don't I have the most eager little sub. Close your eyes."

Sam did instantly, groaning in his throat, a helpless pulse of arousal shooting through him. With his eyes shut, his attentions shifted drastically to the feel of Kurt on him, the physical sensation of being half naked on what felt like a really nice bedspread (after the tacky old floral bedspreads at the motel and the somewhat sticky vinyl in the sub closet, the difference was so palpable; Kurt's bed was heaven), the reality of his heart pounding in his chest. Kurt could probably see it vibrating and fighting to pop through his ribcage.

"Are you paying attention to me?" Kurt asked him.

"Yes," Sam responded eagerly.

"Good. I want you to focus on me. Listen to my voice. Listen to the tone of my voice, Sam. Think about how I'm talking directly to you. Follow what I tell you to do. I want you to take a slow, deep breath..."

Ecstatic for directions to follow, Sam obediently gulped for air – too fast and too sharp. He caught his own lungs roughly and made himself draw the air in more steadily, till his chest felt full, and Kurt said, "That's perfect. You slowed yourself down, didn't you? Now carefully, slowly... let it out again..."

Bowing his lips and trying not to let his cheeks puff out like a chipmunk's, Sam released the breath from the bottom of his lungs, as deliberately as he could manage.

"That's good, Sam. Just like that. Let's do it again, this time through your nose. Inhale slowly... mm, good. Exactly. Now exhale."

A slave to his instructions, Sam poured everything he had into the simple exercise, and Kurt lead him through it what seemed like a dozen times, till Sam was abruptly aware that his heart was beating slower, steadier, and his muscles had softened to the mattress beneath them. It wasn't until then that he realized he'd been rigid and thrumming and panting and more excited than a kid on Christmas. A little flush of shame stole over him, but – Kurt had eased him down on purpose, handled him perfectly easily. For some reason, that just seemed to make his cock strain, excited, in his jeans. He relaxed further. He trusted Kurt; he wanted to be good for him; he knew Kurt would help him be good.

"Are you still focused?" Kurt asked him patiently.

"Yes. Totally."

Kurt gave him a gentle laugh. "Yeah? Not falling asleep?"

"No. I'm listening to you. I like listening to you."

"Good boy. Sweet boy." Kurt's nose nuzzled the side of Sam's face, and his lips pressed a small kiss to Sam's cheek that made heat rise in a slow burn in his skin. "I'm going to give you a little rule. Do you think you're ready for a rule?"

"Yes," Sam breathed happily.

"Listen very carefully." Kurt paused. Maybe he was looking at Sam, looking for anything other than dedicated attention, but Sam was completely and utterly in his sway. He nodded, just in case he was supposed to respond. "Here's the rule. When I ask you a question, you say 'yes' or 'no' with that honesty I like so much. You can say 'maybe' if you aren't sure. Got it?"

This was like Friday. Sam felt hypnotized. "Yes. Say 'yes,' 'no,' or 'maybe'... honestly..."

"Mm, very good. Only say it when I ask you a question, and don't say anything other than one of those three words. Otherwise, just listen. I'll tell you if I want you to say anything else. Do you understand?"

Sam said, "Yes."

"The rule is over when I tell you to open your eyes. Do you hear that?"

"Yes."

"Good. I like it when you pay such close attention to me. You're amazing at playing by the rules, Sam."

Another little bump of Kurt's nose to his warm face and Sam was practically flying, bones and muscles loose, mind completely engaged but somehow so free, weightless. The mattress underneath him just felt like an immaterial cloud.

"I've been thinking a lot about stuff we can do together," Kurt whispered. "Especially because of our little trips to the soft room. Did you like going there with me?"

"Yes," Sam whispered back.

"Was it good to be my little sub at school?"

"Yes. Yes." Sam didn't mean to say it twice, but once didn't really seem enough.

Kurt giggled.

"You know how much you pleased your Dom, don't you?"

"N – no," Sam uttered, even though he felt like he should be saying _yes_ , or at the very least, _maybe_. He did remember, as if through a storm of noise created by his own roaring blood and foggy brain, Kurt telling him he liked his submissive cock, but... he remembered that because it was so hot, kind of like he remembered his own come staining Kurt's bedspread. It was difficult to think he'd really pleased Kurt; he didn't know what he was doing. Objectively, he knew he hadn't displeased Kurt. But as a sub he felt like he didn't have a good handle on what Kurt liked other than honesty. So he gave his first and most honest answer.

"No?" There was a note of surprise in Kurt's voice. "Let me tell you all about it, then. I was so pleased with you. I gave you a rule, and you followed it perfectly. Didn't you?"

"Yes," said Sam. He wasn't exactly sure, but Kurt had just told him he had.

"That's right. You did." 

Kurt paused for a second, and Sam turned that over in his head.

Then Kurt added, "And you told me how hard you get when your neck gets kissed. You were trying to be honest and open and wanted to warn me, huh?"

"Yes," Sam echoed, more certainly.

"I like that. And you showed me your hard dick when I told you to..."

Sam felt adept fingers flicking through his hair, tucking it back behind his ear, but his brain was retreating into what seemed to be the blur of the nurse's office. Each thing Kurt was mentioning was sharpening up the picture for him a little. He had done that – or, at least, he'd obediently let Kurt pull his junk out. He remembered the dirty-good feeling of being simultaneously exposed and crammed awkwardly by his fly. Kurt had gotten him out from tip to root to nuts and Sam had felt a little embarrassed, but ultimately, owned. Kurt could do that to him. Kurt could do whatever he wanted to him. Sam was his. And Kurt had said he was beautiful. Sam's eyelids, though closed, wanted to flutter remembering that. Kurt had liked doing that; had liked seeing him. At the time, Sam was so, so turned on by Kurt talking about his dick that he'd been wiggling, sticking indecently out of his jeans, and trying not to cream himself even though he was aching to do just that.

Kurt finished, "You were so good for me. You obeyed me, and I loved playing with you and making you squirm. I loved it when you came all over your shirt. I loved watching all that hot white spunk shooting out of my sub's beautiful dick. I loved that you were an obedient boy and made yourself feel good this weekend, too. You did just what I wanted you to, hm, Sam?"

"Yes?" Sam breathed. He knew it was the answer Kurt was prompting him for, and it seemed like he really had done what Kurt was asking him to do, but still felt a sense of disbelief about it.

"Yes. That's right, you did, Sam. And you're doing that right now, too. Just what I ask. And I'm so happy you were honest and said when you don't know something, instead of saying 'yes' just because it sounds positive. I think it's a sign of a submissive who wants to please their master in the truest way possible. Because you know real feelings are better and more pleasing than any acting. Don't you?"

"Yes," Sam said immediately and wholeheartedly.

"And you want to be my sub and follow my rules, not anyone else's?"

"Yes!"

"Does it bother you when I kiss your cheek?"

Sam's lips tugged stupidly into a grin. "No."

He was rewarded with a sweet smooch, much less restrained than the pecks he'd been given before. He wanted to moan happily, but it seemed more important to just stick to his three allowed responses.

"I'm really your Dom, aren't I?" Kurt asked lowly, lips hot by Sam's ear.

"Yes!" burst Sam.

"Yes? I really am?"

"Yes," Sam insisted. "Yes. Yes. Yes –"

"And you're really my sub?"

"Yes. Yes."

"Do you know, as your Dom and as a – hm... fan of the male form, of which you are such a perfect specimen, how much it pleases me when you're aroused?"

Sam took a second to mull that over. Obviously, he knew Kurt liked guys... and he'd told Sam he wouldn't be angry if Sam was horny at school, collared.

"Yes," he whispered tentatively.

"Good. It's important to me that you know just how much I love your body and love all your responses. You're hard right now and I love it. I love that you get hard for me. You're so hot, Sam. I'm really curious about this, so... please be honest. Do you like it when I touch your cock?"

"Yes," Sam said, startled. His ears went red in a snap.

"I hoped so. See, I'm not... I'm not like Quinn... I want you to feel good, and I want to – have sex with you. I feel a little bad saying that, because knowing you like girls, I worry that means you don't really like guys as much as me. And that's okay if you don't... it's part of who you are. I know you can function with me. I know you want to serve me. You're really such a priceless find. And I want you to feel as good as I do when we're together, doing this kind of stuff. You have to understand how much I love it when you're all wound up. I think it's so sexy and – manly – and hot when your cock is hard and I know you have a load to give your master. Whether I let you blow it or not is a different story –"

Kurt huffed softly, and Sam choked down an entire series of squeaks. He was wetting his briefs with a hot leak of precome.

"I haven't forgotten you said you wanted to have sex, if it was okay with me. If that's true, then you have my permission – you, my submissive, have your Dom's permission at all times," Kurt clarified intently, "to want sex. To get hard. To touch yourself and jerk off anytime you want when I'm not with you, unless I've told you that you can't for some reason. If you wanna jack it every single night in the shower, you can. You have my permission to love how it feels. And to feel good after you've blown your wad. Not bad. Not ashamed or guilty or afraid. Sexy. 'Cause you know I love it. I love your body. I love your gorgeous dick. I love thinking about you coming. I love watching you come. I think it's so hot, Sam – you're so hot. You're the hottest, sexiest boy in the universe. Do you hear that you have your Dom's permission to be turned on? That you don't have to ever apologize for being excited?"

"Yes," Sam said thickly. His throat was tight with arousal.

"It's really okay with me. You know that, right?"

"Yes."

"If you get turned on at something, anything, whether that's getting your neck kissed or, um, boobs, or those... blue creatures from _Avatar_ , it's okay with me. If something isn't your thing, it's okay with me, too, and you don't have to like stuff I like. Is what I'm saying clear to you?"

"Yes... maybe," Sam managed.

"Do you have questions?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Ask me."

"I want to obey you and feel good, but I don't want to come without your permission," Sam blurted. He was somehow so glad his eyes were closed.

"Are you afraid I'll be mad?"

Sam nodded.

"Have I ever gotten mad at you for coming?" Kurt asked him gently.

Face pulling tight into thought, Sam carefully remembered every time he'd been allowed to come with Kurt. Since he hadn't come except in his own sweatpants in the middle of the night for months, they definitely stuck out to him.

Most of them had been the day Kurt had collared him. The first time, Sam had been on his knees on Kurt's bed, face against the mattress, and Kurt had told him to touch himself, and Sam had desperately asked if he could come because he was so worried he was going to without permission. After that Kurt had touched him and... told him to. Permission granted. Then Kurt had fucked him, and even though it was so hazy in Sam's brain it seemed like it had happened while he was drunk or something, Sam remembered coming again all over that furry bedspread, and the hot sloppy feel of the fur sticking to his belly. It had been completely without permission, his whole body and mind in ecstasy, not any of it under his control except for the religious way he was making sure to keep touching the headboard. Kurt hadn't been mad, but he had noticed. He had said something. He'd asked Sam if he'd come getting fucked like a good boy and made Sam answer. Then Sam had nearly just blacked out.

In the nurse's closet, Sam had tremblingly warned Kurt; he hadn't meant to ask for permission. He was a little scared and ashamed and still didn't know how he'd gotten in that state. But Kurt had told him he could come and he went off like a firecracker. The next day Kurt had teased him more purposefully, told him he could be hard and told him he could come if he wanted, but Sam had still made sure to say please, just because he had to be sure and he couldn't help wanting to ask. And on Sunday, Kurt had encouraged him to get himself off – but even alone, Sam had still pleaded for it.

Slowly, Sam shook his head, then muttered, "No?"

Kurt's hand cupped his jaw, warm and familiar.

"I will never get mad if you come," he said. "If there's ever a situation where I've told you that you can't, and you do anyway, the only way I'd ever be mad is if you were like, 'I don't care what he says, I'm going to get off anyway.' Then I would be hurt. I would probably feel mad because it would feel like you were ignoring me and disobeying me on purpose. But I don't expect that to ever happen, because I know you. I know that you want more than anything to be my good boy. I know that accidents happen. I know you might have a wet dream, or maybe... well. There's other things that could happen. But I promise, I will be very, very clear with you if I ever put you in a situation where blowing your load is not allowed, and I will do everything in my power to help you be obedient. Do you understand the difference between what would make me mad in that situation and what wouldn't?"

"Maybe... yes," said Sam, tiny.

"Tell it to me in your words."

"It's okay if it's on accident. It's not okay if it's on purpose."

"Ah. Good. Very good. And much more succinct than my little speech."

Sam pinched his lips together.

"Do you have another question?"

"Yes."

"Hm. Okay. Is it related to that?"

"Maybe?" Sam faltered.

"Ask."

"Can I ask you anyway?"

"... The question?"

"No. If I can come. Can I ask you."

There came a silence, and before it could get very long, Sam babbled on anxiously.

"Sorry – I really get what you're saying. I understand when it'd make you mad and I get that you'll help me. Thank you – thank you. If this is selfish and you don't like it, I won't do it anymore, I promise. Just please tell me if I can ask you, as my Dom. I – feel good asking you if – it's okay, even if it is, even if sometimes I... might... come before I can ask..."

"Yes, Sam," said Kurt, fingertips scritching behind Sam's ear slowly. "I hear you, and yes. You can ask me for permission to come anytime you want, unless I've told you in advance that you can't ask. Or if you're gagged, 'cause I won't be able to understand you."

Sam's chest clutched awkwardly over his exhale. ... Gagged?

Through the shock ringing in him, he heard Kurt add, "You do know that if you ask for my permission, you run the risk of my saying no, right?"

"Yes," he wheezed. "I like... that. I like you saying what to do. It – just makes me feel like I'm doing good and... being a good sub... to make sure..."

"Mm!" said Kurt, as if this was an unexpected revelation. "I understand. I'm impressed you asked me that, Sam. It was a good question and so honest. It's very subby of you to want to do as I say and to practically beg me to take so much control over you."

Squeaking, Sam trembled, riding out a wave of some of the strangest inner pleasure he'd ever felt. It was arousal, but came from so deep it didn't seem to really feel connected to his twitching hard-on. His hips rolled pointlessly, even though he wasn't trying to get off or rub his dick against the cotton layers keeping it covered. He just felt it so bodily it seemed to take over his limbs. Kurt's knee flexed, pinning one of Sam's down, and Sam tried to shiver out of the weird wriggle, slamming his curling leg back down and tightening his fingers into the bedspread. After a few desperate seconds, he scraped himself together, going limp again, brain absolutely fuzzy.

"Angel?" his Dom whispered.

"Yes," Sam breathed, voice embarrassingly close to a puberty squeak.

"... Do you need to come?"

Sam didn't even consider it. "No."

"Oh. Then do you have to pee?"

"No."

"Just had to wiggle?"

"Yes."

"Are you getting antsy?"

"Maybe...?"

"Tell me how you feel right now, then."

"Happy," Sam breathed.

"Happy?" Kurt echoed. Sam could hear him smiling. "So that was a happy fit just now?"

"Yes..."

Warmth touched Sam's bare shoulder; Kurt's cheek. His hand slid gently down Sam's throat and followed his sternum, petting him over the flutter of his heart. It wasn't thudding around with the same extreme adrenaline as earlier. Something in Sam was very calm even though he was submerged so totally in arousal that it felt like he was twenty thousand leagues under the sea. His thighs flexed a few times, like his body wanted to roll and writhe in another happy fit, but Kurt's cuddle anchored him gently, and he calmed again after a minute.

"I'm going to get up, Sam," Kurt finally murmured. "I'm not leaving the room. I want you to lie here just like this for me. Wiggle as much as you want to. Just stay on your back, keep your hands at your sides, and keep your eyes closed. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Sam said unthinkingly. He did kind of wonder what Kurt was pulling himself away for, but it also wasn't his place to question it, and Kurt had given him directions to follow. He felt the mattress dip lightly as Kurt sat up and slid off the bed, leaving Sam on it, in the spotty dark of his dropped eyelids.

With the anchor gone, Sam's cord to the present unwound wildly within a matter of seconds. He was so used to floating off that he did it immediately, thoughts soaring into a crazy jumbled stratosphere. Total permission to be aroused as often as he was. Permission to jack off whenever he wanted. Permission to ask Kurt if he could come – to behave and – need him – and submit if he was denied. Sam's hips lifted again, body flexing uselessly and flopping again. Maybe it was a happy fit. Sam didn't have any better words for it. He just knew he wasn't shifting around out of boredom or discontent. He was so content it didn't even seem he'd ever felt actual contentment before. He was collared. Safe. Maybe he was going kind of crazy.

"Sam," said Kurt, his voice across the room. "If I ask you a question, you'll answer me honestly, won't you."

"Yes," Sam half-groaned.

"Do you really want to suck my dick?"

If it wasn't for Kurt's instructions, Sam would've rocketed off the bed and hit some kind of celestial bell like the hand of God had slammed the mattress.

"Yes," he gasped.

"So you... think about doing it...?"

"Yes, all the time," Sam almost sobbed, although he jerked bodily realizing he'd said more than Kurt's rule allotted for him.

"I'll let you open your eyes in a second," Kurt said, obviously noticing his infraction. "But you have my permission to answer me thoroughly on this."

"I'm sorry," Sam said helplessly, his eyes squeezed shut so hard everything looked like fireworks somehow. "I just – yes. I think about it – every day."

"Do you think about being on your knees?"

Sam's legs jerked. "Yes."

"You can open your eyes now, sweetie."

Sam did, blinking as his vision swam and struggled to suddenly take in more light and color and stimuli, dragging his focus around. He sought out Kurt as soon as he could think straight and saw him leaning against his wooden dresser, playing with a gray bandana that had some kind of orange stuff printed on it. It slid, light and silky, over and between his fingers. Sam could see the empty sliver of mirror where it had been hanging alongside a bunch of others.

"Come here," said Kurt, eyelashes flicking seductively.

Sam's body moved immediately; he was hardly inside it, so he was squirming off the bed really clumsily and staggering to Kurt already before he seemed to get a little control back to his limbs. Could he – could he get on his knees now...?

"Turn around," Kurt commanded.

When he did, Kurt grasped at his wrists from behind him, thumbs sliding hotly over the black leather belts that rode over the camo print cuffs.

"We're going to try a little something," Kurt said.

"Yes," Sam agreed in a breath.

"Hands behind your back," Kurt instructed, not leading him, but following him closely, hands light on Sam's cuffs as his arms moved and the backs of his hands bumped together awkwardly. He clenched his hands together, wondering if Kurt was maybe inspecting him. It wasn't until he felt his cuffs overlapping slightly that it hit Sam: cuffs... handcuffs... this was how people stood when they got arrested...

Silk slipped ticklesomely over his fingers, and Sam just about fainted. He wanted to say his Dom's name and knew it wasn't against the rule, since wasn't in play anymore, but he couldn't even speak out of utter shock. He just pulled in a massive gasp and heard Kurt exhale softly in response, feeling the breath on his back as silky as the scarf was against his fingers.

"If this is uncomfortable," said Kurt, "you're allowed to tell me, and I'll untie you."

"Oh my God," Sam whispered, eyes squeezing shut.

"Do you promise you'll tell me if it's uncomfortable?"

"Yes – I just –"

He couldn't finish. He had no words. Kurt was actually tying him up? Like... like the rope pictures...? This decorated scarf, which he was pretty sure he'd seen Kurt wear to school at least once, seemed a far cry from the complicated binding, and he could feel that rather than wrapping it around his wrists totally, Kurt was simply linking his cuffs together by threading it through their D-rings. But still, the idea that he warranted so much thought made Sam's legs feel like gummy worms. He wasn't worthy, he thought wildly. He wasn't worthy of the fuss, of the deliberation.

"There," Kurt said affectionately. "That's real, one hundred percent silk Alexander McQueen you're wearing. If you need to, you can wiggle your arms, but don't you dare rip it. If you want out of it, you have to ask."

"Thank you," gasped Sam, completely stunned.

"Kneel," returned Kurt.

It sounded like a dare and Sam had no idea why. He was dropping onto his knees forcefully, gratefully, flexing tense because he didn't know whether to simply be on his knees or if he could sit back on his calves, and blinked at the nearby bed, trying to process the fact that Kurt was probably looking at him. Looking at his restrained wrists, his arms held back. His fists bunched. However Kurt had tied him up, that was enough for him to tell that he had an inch or so of wiggle room, which seemed like a lot, but despite his actual excitement, some sense of fight-or-flight kicked in when his body realized it wasn't completely free, and he actually found himself struggling for a few seconds before stilling himself, not wanting to stretch or damage the scarf Kurt had entrusted him with.

"Yeah," Kurt breathed. "Okay. I'm beyond ready for my little sub's mouth now. See if you can turn around, Sam."

Twisting, Sam had squirmed around with relative ease, his center of balance taking a bit of a hit, but he was so tense he easily caught himself before he could sway over this way or that, and strained up taller as he gazed up at Kurt, who was still leaning back against the dresser, this time with his hands casually eased back onto the flat surface. Sam was tall on his knees, which just meant dropping his eyes to Kurt's zip was super obvious, but he was so beyond caring. Kurt knew he wanted this. Sam wanted him to know just how much.

"Please, Kurt," he whispered, looking up at Kurt again with serious eyes. Smiling at him smugly, Kurt cupped Sam's cheeks, and Sam felt it worth repeating. "Please."

"I guess you need a hand, since yours are tied behind your back," Kurt teased.

"Yes," Sam breathed, getting a massive kick of arousal and embarrassment and gratitude. "Please help... please – let me –"

"I know you've been waiting," Kurt said, pale hands sliding from Sam's face to unfasten the button on his pants. Sam huffed, needy, scooting in closer on his knees. He made a noise of disappointment when Kurt didn't immediately follow with the zip, instead thumbing his suspenders off his shoulders one by one and pulling his arms from them. Kurt made a little noise of sympathy that Sam didn't think was very real, which made him feel so pathetic and hot. "Tsk. I know. You've been imagining it. You've been begging. Don't worry. I'm gonna let you have it."

Kurt seemed determined to be slow – either that or Sam's mind was basically Madonna's "Ray of Light" video – and Sam knew it was because he could, and Sam would just have to wait, so in the few beats where he stared at Kurt's fingers guiding his zip down, he squirmed his shoulders, feeling his wrists catch against the silk binding them together. He was on absolute tenterhooks as Kurt eased his trousers down and reached into the fly of his tight-fitting black boxer-briefs. The color of them wasn't really anything to Sam until Kurt actually pulled his dick out and it looked stark pink against them.

Sam's eyes shot up to his Dom's face, registering the fact that his mouth had slipped open, and dropped again, his chest intense. Like on Friday, Kurt stroked himself a few times, like this massive tease. Sam couldn't look away any more. Even if he couldn't touch Kurt, jerk him off like on Friday, and even if Kurt for some reason changed his mind right then about letting Sam blow him, he could look – he could still have this much.

"C'mere, honey," he finally murmured, kindly, and inhaled sharply as Sam just buried his face right up against that hot pink cock with its delicate skin and heady mouth-watering private smell that was deeply Kurt. The smell of his Dom's arousal had become part of Sam's very being; he remembered it and was flooded with that shaky excitement. _I've never been so hard... A hundred percent... All because of you._ He shuddered from the core up, turned on at the feel of it stiff against his cheek and nose and mouth, but more than that, worshipful and grateful. Kurt laughed breathlessly. "Is that what you've been after?"

Grunting ecstatically, Sam flexed, rearing up, lips dragging against the side of Kurt's cock. It escaped him, slipping off his cheekbone, then smacking him gently on the cheek. Turning his face, he just opened his mouth around it and tried to suck his way up to the tip. It would've been much easier if he'd had just one hand free and could have lead it into his mouth, but he didn't, and Kurt had returned his hands to the dresser just behind him.

"You can do it," he breathed, sounding amused, then hissed as Sam gave up trying to both nuzzle it and suck it and started licking it instead, tasting its musky skin. Dizzily, he lapped up with his tongue broad and pushing, glancing up just enough to see Kurt's head tilt back for a second before he got it together and looked down at Sam, too. It was so strangely connective a look that Sam felt his spazzy edges calm and come to attention, and the words seemed to become true and supportive. Eager to prove him right, Sam reined in that manic frenzy and curved his tongue, bobbing his head to slide it down the back of Kurt's cock and up again, rubbing wet and warm until the shaft was slick with his spit and Kurt was whispering, "Ah. Sam. That feels amazing."

The rings on Sam's cuffs clinked lightly as he squirmed, moaning pleadingly at Kurt. Elation was beading up in him, welling slowly. This was what he wanted. Almost. It was really close, and felt so good.

Finally, cursing his initial impatience, he backed off just enough for gravity to bring him Kurt's knob. Staring at it, he licked up the glans delicately and listened to his Dom catch his breath, shocked.

"Sam," he breathed.

Sam hit something, then. Something inside him. That something that was deep and calm and didn't fight or struggle against the tug of arousal or the pressure in his belly or the restraint of his arms. He blinked up at Kurt slowly and managed to hold the head of Kurt's dick right on the pillow of his lower lip, tongue sliding around the softest, smoothest flesh and feeling the tender cleft where his slit was. It felt so good in every way to Sam – and that it felt good to Kurt, too, who clutched at the dresser and let out a huffing breath that was unlike anything Sam had heard except for right when Kurt was coming, was like a whole other level of happiness.

Trying to be careful about his teeth, he bowed his mouth into a ring and bobbed gently around Kurt's dick, wishing he could steady himself with his hands but almost honored that Kurt thought he was capable of doing this without a kickstand. It made him that much more careful and purposeful as he worked his neck, feeling his lips slide over the rim of that soft knob and become familiar with it. His tongue couldn't help caressing that ridge, clumsy. That got him a gasp. Sam's focus then became seeing if he could do things that made Kurt breathe hard or make a noise, the rest of him in a distant trance of rapture.

Finally. Finally. Finally he was being allowed to have Kurt's cock in his mouth again. Finally, he was being allowed to have this pleasure; finally, he was getting to serve. He kind of felt like he could come at any second, but knew he wasn't going to. It wasn't quite like that. It was bigger. Better. Sucking Kurt's dick, rolling him between clumsy lips and dripping spit out the side of his mouth and knowing each coaxing pull of his mouth was making his Dom feel good and that he was on his knees servicing with all the dedication he had, was better than his vague fantasies. Kurt made it better. Kurt... he wanted Kurt so much...

He found himself leaning in closer, almost tipping over right onto Kurt, mouth easily but hungrily taking Kurt in deeper, his eyes only mostly closed and not really even seeing what his lashes blurred because he didn't care about anything but Kurt's hands moving to touch his shoulders and that cock stuffing his mouth.

"I'm gonna come," Kurt groaned tensely, his voice high and sweet. "I don't wanna – I wanna let you suck me off forever –"

Sam whined. This was such a good idea, he wanted to beg. 

"You're so good," Kurt told him. "You're so good, Sam. Fuck. I'm gonna fucking come. You want it in your mouth, sub?"

Squirming, Sam huffed against Kurt's belly. He knew his wrists could not get free. That he could not pull them apart without harming Kurt's scarf. But some thrill had him clanking anyway, shoulders lifting in jerks against Kurt's fingers.

"I can't believe this," Kurt uttered. "God, I can't believe this. Sam. _Uh_ – Sam..."

Sam felt Kurt tensing hard against the dresser, felt the meat of his cock thicken impossibly, and squeaked in utter happiness as Kurt's come spattered in his mouth. Carefully, he drew his lips up to the tip and felt it throb around another three or four loads, which slid on his tongue to the back of his mouth. His swallowing reflex was automatic. He gulped down the hot mouthful without thinking.

"God," Kurt said loudly. "You swallowed all that come I gave you, huh, sweetie?"

"Mm," Sam acknowledged around the tip of Kurt's dick, hoping that was all right.

"Good boy!" his Dom breathed, sounding struck. "God!"

Sam was too far-gone to smile. He just stayed still for a few long moments, listening to Kurt breathe these indignant-sounding huffs, and as Kurt's dick began to soften and pull between his lips, he gave a final gentle suck and let it go, burying his forehead against Kurt's hip slavishly with the wet heat of Kurt's dick caressing his cheek. He could feel that his chin and neck were coated with thickened spit and didn't want to get it on Kurt's clothes. A hand tangled in Sam's hair, and for a minute, Sam just existed in a space created by Kurt's heaving breaths.

"Good boy," Kurt whispered, his voice curling. He sounded like he was talking to a dog or a little kid, but Sam responded hard, moaning. "That's my good boy. Did that make you happy?"

Sam tried to say "yes," but his mouth didn't move in time to make his groan into a word. It was a little buzzy and numb, and his jaw was aching. Even so, he would have been happy to suck Kurt off again right then if he wanted. Sam would suck his cock forever.

"Can you sit up straight on your knees?" Kurt asked him with a gentle caress of his hair.

Huffing, Sam pulled his face from Kurt's leg, sat back on his calves, and then straightened up again, lifting obediently.

"Perfect," Kurt said. He was fastening his pants and Sam kind of wanted to cry seeing him do it, but he still felt happy, since Kurt had unbuttoned them in the first place and let Sam have his dick in his mouth. "Yes or no – can you stand?"

"Yes," Sam breathed.

"I want you to stand and turn around. Show me your cuffs. Show me the scarf."

Body a little heavy, Sam took a second to get ahold of his core and rock a knee up so he could stand, but as he did, he turned and presented eagerly, praying his squirming hadn't damaged Kurt's scarf. He didn't want it to have been ruined and he didn't want to have disobeyed even on accident, but most of all, he didn't want Kurt to think he couldn't tie his submissive's wrists back anymore.

"Is it okay?" he asked with his tired mouth.

He felt Kurt's fingers pulling at the scarf and hung his head, feeling so compulsively respectful and reverent to what Kurt had done to him.

"Looks good to me," said Kurt, and laughed lowly. "Very good. Do your arms hurt?"

"No. Kinda weird, being back. Doesn't hurt."

"Is that the truth?"

"Honest truth," Sam said.

"It's not that I don't believe you," Kurt assured him, giving his forearms a rub and resting his cheek on Sam's slightly arched shoulder. "It's just that I don't want to overexert you. I'd rather untie you now than regret tying you up later. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good boy. I'll untie you soon, but if you get uncomfortable before I do, tell me."

"I promise."

"Good. I'm holding you to that promise. For right now... stand still while I get you naked."

His arms reached around Sam's and opened Sam's jeans much faster than he'd opened his own pants. Sam was too amazed.

"Naked," he whispered.

"Yu-u-up," said Kurt lasciviously, and bent behind him, fingers catching both the waistband of Sam's briefs and his jeans and pulling them right down his legs. 

Sam's dick sprung up, heavy and red. He was almost spine-chillingly aroused, but it didn't seem to really be central to his dick anymore. He looked down at it, getting a wave of self-consciousness so close on the heels of the wonderment of sucking Kurt's cock and floating in all the praise that it felt weirdly external to him. What seemed to matter more was just the fact that his wrists were still bound and he could kinda feel the tickle of silk on his bare butt.

"Do you know what I'm gonna have you do now, sub?" Kurt asked, standing and squeezing at Sam's elbows. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed at Sam, who trudged forward with the ring of his jeans caught around his ankles.

"Uh," Sam let out. He couldn't really think if that was a question that had an answer he was supposed to guess. It felt a little like his ankles were tied, too. He made it the few steps over to the bed like that, caught at ankle and wrist.

"Knee up on the bed," said Kurt.

Lifting his foot out of his jeans and kicking clumsily out of his underwear, Sam obeyed. Kurt's hands were helpfully bracing him at each arm, keeping him balanced.

"Now your other knee."

Sam kneed; now he was on his knees on the edge of the bed. His jeans were caught around his ankle. Kurt took care of it.

"You're quite a sight," Kurt informed him.

He appeared at Sam's side, then, and unfurled something with a dramatic flourish right in front of him. It was the dark furry bedspread, stained with his come in two different places, and Kurt was laying it out on the bed right before Sam. Sam stared at it, stunned. So he had ruined it. But Kurt had kept it. He turned his stupefied stare onto Kurt, who smirked and slid around the bed to take him by the biceps again.

"Forward march, soldier. Left, right, left. And halt. Now bend over. Cheek to the bed. You know the drill, don't you, cutie."

At this point, Sam was coming right back into himself, his face painfully hot as he tried to obey, thunking without grace against the furry spread and nearly falling over. With his arms struggling to try and help him but actually just making it worse, his knees spread automatically to tripod him in place, and he was glad he didn't go over, but... somehow he felt even more on display than last time he'd done this. Instead of his arms bearing any weight or balance or even just giving him comfort, his left shoulder was taking the fall. He was glad it wasn't his right, which he'd dislocated in the first football game of the season. Still, his face was, like, two inches from a dried patch of come-stained fur and he felt crooked and on display and utterly powerless and – a little afraid, but in that weird, good way where he didn't have control over it either way and all he wanted to do was obey.

"Good job, Sam. Does it hurt with your arms back?"

"No," he whispered. "Just weird."

"Hmm, I bet. You hold still for me. This will just take a second."

Kurt moved away from him and Sam heard him doing – something mysterious.

"Do you realize you broke my rule earlier?" Kurt asked from several feet away.

"Yes," Sam said, stomach twisting. He knew exactly what Kurt was talking about.

"I know you didn't mean to. You were just excited, weren't you, sweetie."

"Yes, Kurt – I didn't mean to, I swear. But I'm so sorry, anyway," Sam said, his intensity not at all muffled by his cheek smushed uncompromisingly into the mattress. "I'm sorry for breaking the rule. I got too excited. I wasn't thinking."

"I know, honey. I'm going to have to punish you. It was a rule, after all. But it was just a little temporary one. So you only get a little temporary punishment."

"Yes, Kurt," Sam said again. His face was aching. With his bare ass up in the air like this, arms bound, all he could do was accept his fate. There was something scary about it, but he also felt more and more like Kurt's sub with each experience they had together and he really, really wanted that feeling. He deserved punishment and wanted Kurt to exert full control in every way.

Kurt hummed. "I admit, I haven't actually thought of a good punishment for you. I refuse to spank you, even though it is quite tempting with your little Coppertone baby butt cheeks peeking right at me. I'd enjoy it way too much."

"Anything you want," Sam wheezed, feeling his ass clenching, fully visible to Kurt's eyes, anyway.

"Okay," Kurt said. A second later, there was a sound Sam actually recognized. It was a click. Like a shutter. A loud, fake shutter on an iPhone. Kurt continued, "Oh, perfect. What did Artie call it? A portrait of unlikely domination? That sounds about right."

Sam's face buzzed. He was pretty sure Kurt had just taken a picture of him... and he had no idea how to feel. Mortified, yes. But what was the punishment? Was that it?

"Kurt?" he asked, faint.

"Yes, honey," said Kurt brightly.

"What was that?"

"I took a picture."

"F... for Facebook?" Sam wondered, which was probably the worst case scenario he could think of.

"Oh, God, no," said Kurt. "It's for me, Sam. Just for me. Won't I be a happy Dom when my sub calls me and a picture like that pops up on my screen?"

Sam turned his face right into the bed and groaned. He guessed it was a pretty good punishment. Only, it... really turned him on to think that a picture of him naked and tied up and hard would be his ID picture on his Dom's phone. God, what was wrong with him? That kind of stuff was not cool! Pictures were forever once they were digital! What if Kurt mistakenly uploaded it to Facebook or texted it to, like, Mercedes or somebody on accident? What if Kurt's phone was stolen? Then it wouldn't be a temporary punishment at all! Feeling his arms flex with some distress, Sam whimpered into the furry bedspread. His cuffs bumped awkwardly. He had no choice; he'd brought it on himself. Wow. He belonged to Kurt so utterly. So totally. It was a punishment and he knew it, and felt reprimanded, but somehow it fulfilled him, too; he didn't get why at all, but he felt grateful.

"I bet you'll be careful next time I give you a rule," Kurt commented.

"Yes, Kurt," Sam muffled into the mattress. He fervently meant it.

"There, there, sweetie," said Kurt, coming back toward him. He let out a thoughtful hum. "Well. That didn't make you go the least bit soft, did it."

"So –" Sam got out, trying to apologize for his disobedient dick, but he lost the word to a sharp moan when Kurt's fingers rubbed against it, hanging stiffly beneath his belly. The caress almost hurt, he'd been hard for what felt like so long, but the nudge of knuckles was gentle, too. Totally independent of his brain, his arms yanked, wanting to come down and give him more balance and support, but they couldn't come down, and the shot of adrenaline made him squirm even further, excited.

"Just wait a minute and I'll let you free, Sam," Kurt murmured, the backs of his fingers sliding back and forth against Sam's dick. He could feel Kurt's body heat against the backs of his thighs and let out an incoherent noise. "Just one minute..."

Something wet and warm touched him between his ass cheeks, where he was unfairly vulnerable, and Sam strained, groaning. For an absolutely insane beat he thought it was Kurt's tongue, but it wasn't, it was his thumb, sliding over Sam's hole and stroking at his taint.

"Kurt," he whispered desperately. "Kurt, _please_!"

"Ask me, sub," Kurt told him, and Sam knew he'd asked for this, but it still took him a second to choke it out.

"Can I come – please –"

"Yeah. Yeah, you can come. Oh. There you go. That's good. Good boy, Sam."

Sam saw stars, which was weird, given his eyes were open, but he felt like he was shooting himself right into space. He was aware of the clench of his balls, of his abs and chest getting doused again and again with wads of come that dripped right off him and into the furry blanket under him, but it felt deeper and like it took up the whole room, like the air around him was orgasming with him. He was totally making noise, weak cries that turned into Kurt's name, but he also felt disconnected from his voice. His arms tingled. His face pounded. As it receded, it seemed to drain from the room back into his body and he said, "Oh – Kurt –" in an almost serene bliss, dick bobbing with its deep jerks.

"Are you with me, Sam?" Kurt asked. There was pulling at his wrists. Kurt was untying the scarf.

"Uh," Sam said blankly. "Kurt."

"I got you, buddy."

Sam's arms fell limp to his sides, and Sam slumped over, too. It took him a few beats to realize Kurt had tipped him on purpose, holding his right cuff to keep his arm out from under him and managing to roll him over onto his back. For a second, he saw Kurt super-clearly, his biceps flexed underneath his henley and that one button on it undone. Then he closed his eyes. It seemed like he floated for a while, but then it also didn't seem like very long until Kurt spoke up, murmuring very close to his ear.

"Sam. Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm okay," Sam said.

His Dom pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"I'm gonna let you rest for a few minutes."

Sam let out a very agreeable noise.

 

*

 

Sam's internal clock was kind of wonk, especially since he had actually fallen right asleep, but when Kurt put a hand on his shoulder, it felt to him like about twenty minutes had passed.

"Sweetie," he whispered, filling Sam's head with a flood of warmth and adoration. "Do your arms hurt?"

"No," Sam murmured.

"Oh, good, I'm glad. But I'm going to rub them a little anyway," Kurt told him.

Sam nodded, bemused.

Kurt continued, "I'm going to take your cuffs off you. But when I'm done, I'll put them back on you."

"Okay," Sam said shyly, opening his eyes. The thought of Kurt seeing him uncollared was... almost weird. Even though he and Kurt had been kind of together for a couple months, and Sam had only been collared for a week, he had worn them every second of every day that he wasn't in the shower, and he'd never, like, been with Kurt like this without them on his wrists.

Bustling, Kurt went over to his white stereo and pushed play on the iPod sitting in it, then came back over and began prying open the belt on Sam's left cuff. Some kind of music piped in at such a low volume that Sam couldn't identify what kind of music it even was, but its beat seemed soft. He blinked, watching Kurt unwrap his wrist from his camo-print cuff, then looked around the room curiously, realizing that while he'd been asleep, Kurt had drawn his curtains shut. Kind of like the papered window in the nurse's closet, the curtains themselves weren't enough to shut out the light totally. It let enough through to still see things. But it was darker than earlier and Kurt had lit a couple of small pillar candles and had a bunch of little floating tea lights in a clear bowl of water on his dresser, and Sam could smell them, so they must have been scented. They smelled good in a cool, unidentifiable but pleasant way. Their flames were steady, reflected in the lower half of the dresser mirror.

"Candles?" Sam asked.

"Mm-hmm! It's spa time," Kurt told him, smiling and pulling his right cuff off.

"Wow," Sam whispered. He was genuinely confused and spellbound at the same time. And his wrists were kinda cold.

After pushing his own sleeves up, Kurt took Sam's left arm, pulling it and laying it out straight at his side. Then he picked up a little white bottle with a green label and pump at the top, pressed out a little squirt of lotion or something, and rubbed his hands together, looking at Sam very intently. Once he seemed satisfied with his hands, he bent and pushed his thumbs into the muscle of Sam's forearm gently.

Sam exhaled; Kurt was pushing tension he didn't even know he had right up his arm, lubricated slightly by soft-feeling lotiony fingers and working at his muscle against the grain of his arm hair. He didn't really think he was sore from having his hands behind his back for a little while, but it felt good anyway, Kurt touching him. All stacked up, the relaxing light and interesting scents and old-fashioned lady singer music added up to what seemed like a lot of fuss for a sub who had also just gotten punished.

"I don't deserve a spa," he said, amazed.

Kurt countered, "Yes, you absolutely do. And I deserve to massage my sub's calendar boy arms so I don't worry about them all night. I don't want you to be sore. I saw the way you wouldn't lean on your right shoulder."

"That's just habit," Sam said self-consciously, letting out another exhale as Kurt's thumbs traveled up his arm in deeper, more confident rubs. "It's fine now..."

"Still. Let me take care of you, sweetie. Sorry, but your Dom is kind of a fussbudget."

Sam tried to re-frame his thinking. This wasn't a reward for him; this wasn't pampering. This was for his Dom, so he wouldn't worry about his submissive's bum shoulder. Somehow, that made him felt even more taken care of than the idea of being pampered or spoiled.

"Thank you, Kurt," he said, startled by the rise of emotion that made it sort of hard to say.

Kurt gave him a smile. "You're welcome. I'm always going to take good care of you. It's my fave."

Quiet except for some tense breaths, Sam lay there nakedly on the ruined but still luxurious fur, warm and tingly as Kurt worked his entire arm up and down, inside and out, and even his shoulder, which did actually feel a little sore once Kurt started pushing its muscles around. The air he pulled in smelled so good, clean somehow but tinted with the intimate smell of his own come, and even better than that, he could smell Kurt's gentle exertions and body heat, smell his clothes and skin.

His Dom was happily straddling Sam's lap, gently rubbing imaginary kinks out of Sam's right arm, when a song came on that Sam knew.

"Skeeter Davis," he murmured.

Kurt paused. "Sam Evans. You shock me sometimes."

" _I know that we're wrong, dear, but when I'm with you... I can't help you, darlin', 'cause I'm falling too_ ," Sam sang, getting quite a pair of wide eyes from Kurt. "C'mon! It's country."

"Oh? It's on my '60s Slow Jams' playlist..."

"It's Grand Ole Opry," Sam teased. "You should rename your playlist. 'Grand Ole Spa-pry.'"

"You smarty! I'll spank that sass right out of you," Kurt teased back. At least, Sam thought he must be teasing – but it made him forget the music. Earlier Kurt had said he didn't want to spank Sam. Not that Sam wanted to be spanked... but he had a heavy awareness now that he might sort of feel kinda happy in a subby way if Kurt ever did spank him. He had decidedly mixed feelings about the fact that Kurt had a, like, compromising picture of him on his phone. He didn't like it, and yet he did.

He must have had a weird expression on his face, because Kurt said, "Aw, I'm just kidding, honey," and moved effortlessly up to Sam's shoulder. Like his left, it was more sore than Sam would have detected on his own, and he let out a groan as Kurt rubbed at it.

"Does that hurt?"

"A little, but – good hurt," Sam muttered.

"Like stretching?" proposed Kurt.

"Mm."

"This is the shoulder that got dislocated, right? I'll be careful. Tell me if it becomes bad hurt."

"I will," Sam whispered.

His Dom seemed tentative for a minute, but when Sam didn't complain or wince, he began to exert more pressure, demanding Sam's muscles move beneath his skin, and Sam bit back the pleasure-pain of it.

"Poor sub," Kurt murmured, sensing his response anyway. "We'll have to be careful if we do that again."

"Kurt," blurted Sam.

"Sorry, did that hurt?" Kurt asked him, hand stilling.

"No – I just – do you..."

Sam had almost too many connected and complicated questions in his head to make sense out of the array and just pick one. Like, had Kurt liked tying his wrists up like that? Did he like the way it looked, or was it not as good as the rope pictures? Would Kurt want to tie him up again like that if it wasn't? What if he thought Sam's shoulder was in bad shape? Maybe Sam could get a doctor's note? What if he thought that Sam moving his arms so much meant he didn't want to be tied up? And did Kurt not want to spank him at all, ever? Even though he'd threatened for real at least once that he would. It was somehow stuck in Sam's memory. Sam knew he wouldn't make anything like that up.

"I'm waiting," Kurt told him gently, thumbs kneading Sam's deltoid.

"Do you like tied up subs?" Sam asked quickly. The sentence came out pretty fumbled, and Sam blinked in some shade of embarrassment as Kurt let out a breathy laugh.

"You know," he said lowly, "I think I do."

Sam stared up at his face curiously.

Kurt added, "But like I was saying earlier... you don't have to like it just because I do. So we don't have to do that again, especially if it hurt."

"It didn't," Sam said in a rush. "It didn't hurt. My shoulder's really healed and I can throw and lift with that arm and everything, do push-ups and pull-ups, and I – I can do whatever you want. If you want."

"Oh!" said Kurt. He rubbed at Sam's shoulder, thumbing his trapezius and rolling the muscle gently.

He didn't say anything else, so Sam exhaled, dimly mortified, and shut his mouth tight so he wouldn't ask any other dumb malformed questions. He closed his eyes as Kurt placed both hands at the sides of his neck and gave him a little rub-down, fingers insisting that the muscles above his collar bone relax.

"What did you think of me tying you up, then, sub?" Kurt asked him.

The air in Sam's lungs puffed out of him. His heart was beating kind of hard, but he didn't know why, especially since his body was pretty limp.

"I kind of just threw it at you..." Kurt commented. "I guess I was just feeling really Dommy, watching you squirm around in sub heaven. Ugh, it got to me bad. Watching your body move and your abs flex. I kept thinking, 'Damn, and here I thought my headboard was so chic, but I can't even strap my sub to it.' Just wanted to tie your wrists to it and see what kind of wiggling you'd do then."

"Y – Yes, Kurt," Sam choked.

"Yes, you'd wiggle?" Kurt teased, stroking lightly at Sam's pecs.

"Yes. But I wouldn't wanna get away."

"No?"

"No. Never."


End file.
